


Learning to Fly

by Tiwtin



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Angst, Drinking, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 23:45:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 36,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3400643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiwtin/pseuds/Tiwtin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written a long time ago for the prompt:<br/>"I LOVE teacher/student fics and there are simply not enough of them in this fandom (I think I've read one?). Do you know what else I love? Douglas/Martin.<br/>I think you know where I'm going with this."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tracionn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracionn/gifts).



> Written for the Cabin Pressure fic prompting meme on Dreamwidth, and since deleted when I had delusions of writing a play based on it. Tracionn asked me to repost.

Douglas turned the corner, wanting nothing more than to get back to his rooms, shrug off his jacket, start a fire and slump down into his big leather armchair. If there was something keeping him at St. Gertrude's Boarding School for Boys it was the warm log fires in his rooms, the traditional wood panelling, the fine stone architecture... and the fact he hadn’t been able to get a job elsewhere, of course.

His old friend Carolyn had hired him despite being 'politely let go' from the last school he taught at, and he was grateful, despite the measly pay.Still, Carolyn could hire who she wanted now. She'd done well when she'd got this school in her divorce settlement.

Rounding the corner, Douglas gave an exaggerated sigh. These boys really didn't have the first clue.

"Smith, is that your school bag you're rifling through?"

The boy jumped, but Mr Richardson's hand was already on his collar.

"Yes Sir!" the boy squeaked automatically.

"Then why, Smith, is the name 'Jenkins' stencilled clearly on the side?" Douglas asked the scrotty forth former.

"He gave it to me, Sir!" Smith said cringing and pulling at his bonds as his friends scarpered.

"Don't lie!" Douglas roared, giving the boy a soft clip around the back of the head.

Douglas sagged, boy still in fist, as he heard the voice echo down the hallway. That woman saw everything.

"Mr. Richardson... Do you recall our discussion?"

Carolyn meant, of course, their disagreement on the subject of 'sometimes a cuff around the head does the little shits a bit of good'.

"Yes, Headmistress Shappey," Douglas called out as the kid pulled out of his grasp and did a runner, leaving the bag at his feet. "I just chose to ignore you," he added under his breath, picking it up. 

Down the hallway, the school counselor turned to the headmistress.

"I need to catch up with Douglas, Mum! See you for tea!"

"Mr Knapp-Shappey’ in front of the children! Do not call me 'Mum'! Dear lord, how many times..." Douglas heard her complain as her son dashed off towards him.

"Douglas!" Arthur called out; clearly hoping Douglas wouldn't disappear on him. Arthur needn't have worried, he didn't want to get stuck with the kid's bag, and Arthur would be no doubt overjoyed to return it to the snivelling child.

"Douglas!" Arthur called repeatedly. It was loud, enthusiastic and utterly unnecessary in Douglas' opinion, especially as his hangover had somehow managed to last him the entire day.

"Yes, Arthur, I'm staying this weekend, and yes to pool at The Stag on Saturday," Douglas stated, pre-emptying Arthur's question. Any excuse to go to the pub was welcomed and Arthur hadn't won a round yet. "I'll even treat you to a bag of pork scratchings in celebration. My divorce to the rat-bastard came through yesterday."

"Oh... Err, congratulations, I think... Is it congratulations or commiserations? I'm confused; you look sad, or hung-over. Are you sad?"

"Just out of curiosity, Arthur, what qualifications did you need to become school counsellor for your mother?" Douglas asked tilting his head as the younger man rambled.

"I went on a course on how to understand people in Ipswich. It taught me things like 'avoidance' - like how you avoid Mum and your flat because of Henr- Rat-Bastard."

"My, my... And I'm not even from Ipswich."

Despite Arthur being bang on about the flat, the fact he'd managed to train the younger man to refer to his cheating husband as Rat-Bastard amused him greatly.

"Now, if you're finished, I have feet to put up and Talisker to put down, so if you'd kindly return this bag to Jenkins-"

"Douglas, I need to talk to you about Martin!"

"Martin? Arthur we have at least eight Martins at the school."

"Yeah, but I mean Martin Martin..."

Douglas knew who he meant of course. Martin Crieff. The talk of the staff room; poor kid.  
Apparently his well-to-do father wasn't actually his father - instead the product of a fling his mother had in between having his half-brother and half-sister. Those kids got to school from home, Martin however was barely acknowledged by the step-father and apparently the mother was just relieved the millionaire had forgiven her and provided for the child.

He provided well enough for the boy, but Mr. Crieff had the money to hide his wife's discretion at the boarding school. Douglas found Martin was a familiar face at weekends and holidays when he couldn't bear to go home himself.

"Come on, then," Douglas said, thrusting the school-bag into Arthur's waiting arms and led him up the stone steps to his rooms.  
Douglas opened the door to his office and Arthur followed him in. They didn't stop, passing by the big wooden desk with endless piles of unfinished marking that leaned precariously, and opening a door at the back of the room to his private quarters.

"Well?" Douglas pressed, it was six o'clock, and he’d done his stint in the dining hall and dearly wanted the tumbler of whisky that was calling to him. He pulled off his jacket and slumped down in his armchair. He took the box of matches off the side table and waved them at Arthur who got the message and bent down to light the fire.

"I think you should take Martin under your wing," Arthur said seriously once the flames were licking the kindling and he'd taken the opposite wing backed chair.

"I'm a physics teacher, Arthur. You're the school counsellor; surely you're the mother-hen around here. God knows, your mother isn't."

"I would but my wings are too feathery and not gay enough," Arthur bemoaned, swinging his legs and looking at the burgeoning fire.

"I'm sure someone - though that maybe only yourself - can give some meaning that sentence. Unfortunately I'm not one of them."

"Well, it's just Martin wants metal wings not feathery ones. He wants to fly... Be a pilot, I mean - he told me in our sessions."

"He's having sessions with you?" Douglas asked, raising his eyebrow.

"Yes... The bullying got worse. He won't tell me why but I did see Derek Clegg shout 'fag' at him... Among others. Mum reckons he's being bullied because he's gay and I figured It might help if he's got a mentor that's gay."

"Oh, I'm sure spending his spare time with a gay man will help his plight!"

"But they all respect you - the kids never back-chat you. They even bully Dirk, but never you."

"Dirk, despite being a seven foot hulk, is like one of those Saint Bernard types - mean looking but couldn't hurt a flea. Me? I'm happy to cut their insolent little tongues off... Clegg, you say?"

"And he needs to learn that skill from a mentor! He didn't fight back at all."

"Arthur, he's a sixteen year old boy!"

"Eighteen. They held him back remember."

"Oh yes... He still seems short for the class he's in."

"He didn't do too well in classes and well... His father..."

"Was only too happy to pay another years’ board and tuition to keep him out of the family... Yes, I get that, but he does really well in my class. He jumps up like a ginger merekat every time I ask a question."

"I asked him about that. Mum gave me his exam results. He's the top in your class and the bottom five in everybody else's. It's the flying references - he says you explain everything with flying whether it's air pressure or velocity... It keeps him interested. And because he sits at the front in your class he doesn't get bullied as much - because you watch over him."

It was true, he couldn't deny it. The boy had a keen interest in his subject of choice and when he'd re-joined the year, all his old friends, the few he'd had, carried on to further education. The rest of the boys were in their own little groups and Martin was clearly the outsider. He'd made sure to nip any early bullying in the bud.  
Douglas sighed. The boy was short, skinny, held back, ginger and now apparently gay. He clearly needed someone on his side and as well-meaning as Arthur mean to be, something he could be more of a hindrance in a delicate situation.

"Okay, okay. But we'll need a rouse; pity is the last thing the boy needs," Douglas said with resignation.

Arthur clapped his hands, excitedly. "Brilliant!"

Douglas rolled his eyes.

"Oh, what about that air-hoe-dymiks stuff. He really, really wants to be a pilot more than anything. That's all he does in his dorm - Google flying stuff."

"If you think that's all boys his age Google in their dorms..."

"Douglas!"

"Flying, eh? I could say he's shown promise in that area... It wouldn't be a lie. And I'm inviting him for extra lessons to cover the maths and human-factors side of aviation."

"Yes! Brilliant! I knew you'd fix this!" Arthur proclaimed getting out of his chair.

"Also, tell him I'm ex-ATPL and I hold a private pilot's license, that should make him happy," Douglas said.

Though he rather doubted he'd be able to fix a damn thing, he'd give it a try - it couldn't hurt.


	2. Chapter 2

When Arthur told the young man in the hallway after breakfast the following morning, Martin was more than excited. He hyperventilated and spent the whole of Mr. Shipwright's English class calming down in Arthur's brightly coloured office.

Martin knocked on Mr. Richardson's door at 7pm that evening. He was unaccountably nervous - Mr. Richardson thought he had potential as a pilot, A PILOT ! Him!

He'd always wanted to be a pilot of course, but his father had expressed a wish for him to 'join the workforce' as soon as possible. He'd asked his mother on his last trip home at Christmas, as he did every Christmas, but he'd been shushed again, a quick comment about flying instruction sounding expensive and not to anger his father.

His parents had plenty of money - Simon was already at Cambridge and Caitlin was already planning her A-Level subjects to become a doctor. It was, as usual, just something he wouldn't be allowed by his father... Because he wasn't his real son.

But now... Now Mr. Richardson thought he had promise. He smoothed his hair down as best he could as he waited. He really, really needed to make a good impression if Mr Richardson was going to coach him in aviation theory.

The door creaked open and Mr. Richardson stood at the threshold and looked at him. He wasn't wearing his jacket, he was instead wearing jeans and a white shirt with the neck open and sleeves rolled up. In his hand was a glass of whiskey.

For a moment, Martin thought Mr. Shappey had got confused - maybe he'd come on the wrong evening, wrong week. Maybe, and more likely, he'd asked the wrong student and wasn't expecting him at all.

"Come in, then," Mr. Richardson said with slight exasperation in his tone. "Don't just stand there gawping."

Mr. Richardson walked back through into his rooms leaving the door open and Martin to follow with trepidation.

Closing the door after him Martin found himself in a cosy little, lamp-lit living room. There was an open fire burning logs and two brown leather wingback chairs before the fire. 

Mr Richardson was settling himself back into one of them and then he looked up at Martin expectantly.

Martin fidgeted and hugged his notepad and pen closer to his chest. Surely he didn't expect Martin to sit down with him?

"Well, sit down, then!" Mr. Richardson said with exasperation a moment later, answering Martin's question. 

Martin slipped into the seat self-consciously, his A4 notepad still a guard against this surprisingly human version of the teacher he knew.

He looked more relaxed, Martin noted and his hair more... floppy. Whatever he had on it during the day to control it had worn off. Or perhaps, he considered, he'd just run his fingers through it a lot after class. He was sure it wasn't like that when he had Physics later in the afternoon. It looked really soft-

"Martin..." Mr. Richardson said slowly.

Martin flushed red and mentally kicked himself. He'd just sat there staring like a moron.

"Yes?" Yes? YES? Is that all he could say? Moron, Martin!

"I take it you're interested in flying," Mr.Richardson prompted.  
"Oh, yes! Very much," Martin answered earnestly, still not letting go of his notepad.

"Is this a recent aspiration?" his teacher asked, solemnly.

Martin panicked. Was this a test? 

"No! No! I've always wanted to be a pilot ever since I was little and even before then... Well, before then I wanted to be an aeroplane, but as soon as I realized I couldn't be... one... of... those..." 

Oh, way to go, Crieff.

Martin watched as an eyebrow rose.

However, it was followed by a slight smirk. "I wanted to be a Douglas A-3 SkyWarrier."

Martin's notebook dropped to his knee and he leant forward.

"The American Navy bomber?"

"Yep." Mr. Richardson took another sip of his whiskey and waited.

"It was a nice plane... They all were in the fifties, but..." Martin paused and then smiled - wasn't Mr Richardson's first name Douglas? "I preferred the other strategic bomber they had - the Martin P6M SeaMaster."

Mr. Richardson laughed aloud. "You certainly know your planes. Arthur said you were keen."

"Arthur?"

"Oh, sorry - Mister Shappey. I never remember to call anyone by their surnames and it doesn't help that Arthur never responds to it."

"Oh, right," Martin said suddenly shy again. Mr Shappey had been talking about him? Had he told him everything he'd confided to the counsellor?

"So what appeals about flying?" Mr Richardson asked.

Martin immediately forgot his worry. 

"Well, flying! Leaving the ground, being above the clouds... And the aircraft... So powerful, so graceful... Taming and controlling such a craft."

"Not the gold braiding on the hat, the kudos, or the guaranteed shag from the cabin crew?" 

Martin mouthed in astonishment at his teacher's candour. 

"Is that why you did it?" Martin tried, defensively - his only resort.

"Well, as my last two husbands were stewards I can't deny it, but that's a small perk compared to the long hours, being away from home, lack of routine, crap food, constant jet-lag, and long, dreary hours of boredom."

"Stu- Hus- I'm not... I mean, errr...." Martin stuttered, automatically. Stewards? Husbands?

"Jetlag doesn't bother you then, I take it?"

"No! No, not at all," Martin gasped, glad of the reprieve. "Mum took us to Florida once and it didn't bother me." 

Oh, fuck. Could he say anything dumber?

"Done any other flying? Other than to see Mickey Mouse, that is."

"I- I wanted to try gliding, but I don't really have the funds at the moment..." 

Mr Richardson gave him a calculating look.

"I've applied for a bar job evenings and weekends at the local pub, The Stag, and I'm planning to save the money for PPL lessons," Martin continued quickly.

"Well, first of all, I'd stay away from the Stag - full of reprobates... How much are they offering you an hour?"

"Four pounds and ninety eight pence."

"Hmmm... Minimum wage. Anyway, what's at maximum take-off weight of an Airbus A380?"

"Erm, five hundred and sixty thousand kilograms, or one point two million pounds... Unless you mean the A380F in which case add thirty thousand kilograms or a hundred thousand pounds," Martin answered quickly, sitting up straight and pulling his notepad back up to his chest.

Mr Richard raised an eyebrow and Martin stayed ram-rod straight, ready for another question.

"You're eighteen, right?" Douglas asked after eyeing him for a moment.

"Yes, Sir," Martin answered, dutifully.

"Well, for fucks sake have some whiskey, you damn well need to relax," Douglas said, getting up. He thrust a glass into the boy's hand and gave him a generous tipple of Talisker.

"Umm, err, I- Umm... Okay," Martin spluttered. Mr Richardson had sworn! His teacher threw another log onto the fire before settling back down in his own seat.

Mr Richardson swore, drank and was married... To a man! To MEN! Plural. Wow.

He brought the glass to his lips and took a big swig of the nice smelling liquid. 

It burned his tongue so he swallowed and it instantly burned his throat. In response, he gasped for air, only to inhale the alcohol fumes and set him coughing. Spluttering and bright red as his notepad and pencil fell to the floor. 

He coughed for another thirty seconds or so before he eventually got his breath and sagged back into the leather armchair, panting slightly. The pages of his notepad lay spread over the rug between them and Martin's pencil had rolled under Mr Richardson's chair.

"That's better!" Mr Richardson enthused, causally. "Now... Why do you really want to be a pilot?"

Martin sagged back into the chair. 

He'd stuttered, looked stupid, come across and immature, he was now a mess, and Mr Richardson thought he was a liar. He'd really screwed up. It didn't really matter what he said next.

"I do want to fly for the sake of flying, it's a graceful balance of physics and mathematics and the aeroplanes are so beautiful... But I also wanted to prove to my Dad... Well, he's not my Dad, but I want to prove to him that I could do it. A captain demands respect, and I wanted that respect - before flying far away from my whole fucking family."

Martin looked down at his glass and as he waited for his reprimand tried another tiny sip. It wasn't so bad, drank like that - earthy, rich.

"I take it you're here this weekend? Rather than visiting the 'fucking family'?"

Martin looked up and quirked his own eyebrow. 

"Yes," he answered slowly. No admonishment? No disappointment?

"Well, I suppose we ought to go flying," Mr Richardson said nonchalantly. "Show you exactly what your aiming for."

Luckily, there was nothing left for Martin to be reduced to than a bit of breathlessness. 

"Fly?" 

"You know, that thing... with wings," Mr Richardson answered with an amused smile. "Phil at the local aerodrome in Fitton owes me many favours and I got my instructor rating in my early days to get my flying hours up... It'll either be a Piper Cherokee or a Cessna. I'm afraid I can't stretch to a Martin P6M SeaMaster... Not that they ever got into service," Douglas commented.

Martin giggled, stunned by the turn of events. Mr Richardson knew that the history of the Martin SeaMaster, so he had to be a real enthusiast. And he wanted to take Martin flying. FLYING!

Martin's wide grin didn't diminish for the whole trip back to his dorm, and though that was slightly due to the whiskey he'd sipped while they had argued about the relative merits of The Douglas Aircraft Company's offerings to aviation versus the Glenn L. Martin Company, he didn't care when his dorm mates hurled abuse for coming in late.

He was going flying!


	3. Chapter 3

Sat in Mr Richardson's class the next day Martin received a sharp prod in his shoulder blade.

Mr. Richardson was busy drawing a diagram in the whiteboard to describe centrifugal forces, while trying to describe the forces in action to the class as he drew. 

Martin turned to see Clegg brandishing a ruler and giving him a malevolent grin.

"Done your homework, Fag-Boy?" Clegg whispered.

Martin shushed him and turned back to the front, only to receive a sharper, more painful jab in his shoulders. 

"Pass me your homework!" Clegg hissed.

He tried his best to ignore the taller boy, but another painful jab came a moment later. 

"No! Do it yourself!" Martin hissed in return. 

"Give me your fucking homework you poofter or I'll-"

Clegg was cut off by the impact of a black marker-pen hitting him on the forehead. Martin looked around as the whole class broke out into laughter, to see Mr Richardson looking murderous - thankfully the look was aimed at Clegg and not him.

"I take it Clegg, you are already fully conversant with centrifugal force?" Mr Richard asked, dangerously.

Though Clegg's ears went red through embarrassment, an ugly defiant look spread across his face. He slouched back in his chair and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, Sir."

"Is that right? Well, come on up here and do bring the black marker pen, you'll be needing it," Mr Richardson's tone was calm but low and everyone in class knew Clegg was in a lot of trouble.

When Clegg approached the whiteboard, he did so at the other end to his teacher, keeping as much distance as he could.

"As you're such and expert, please mark on the diagram the direction of force for reactive centrifugal force..." Mr Richardson motioned impatiently towards the board.

Clegg looked at the board as the class tittered at him. Knowing his only chance was a wild guess, Clegg drew an arrow pointing downwards. 

Clegg looked up at Mr Richardson to see the scathing look he reserved for complete imbeciles.

"Clegg, you have the IQ of navel lint."

The class burst into laughter and Martin squirmed with Schadenfreude.

"In addition to the two pages written on electromagnetism due on Monday, perhaps you can also put together a comparative study on centrifugal forces in domestic appliances. I believe the cleaners are in tonight to launder the weeks sheets, I'll arrange for you to spend the evening assisting so you can observe the spinning motion of the washers and dryers... Three thousand words should surface."

"But Sir, that will take all weekend!" 

"Longer for someone of your intelligence, Clegg. Now sit down and shut up. If I hear another damn word out of you, you won't know the concept of weekend until the end of the year!" Mr Richardson raising his voice towards the end.

As Clegg sat down, Mr Richardson gave Martin a glance, holding eye contact with him for a second before turning back to the board and continuing the lesson. 

At the end of the lesson Mr Richardson called Martin back and he watched the last of the class filter out as he approached the big wooden desk where his teacher was now sat. 

"You're going to have to stand up to him at some point, you know," Mr Richardson said bluntly, as soon as the last person had left.

The elation Martin had been feeling at seeing Clegg got his put down suddenly disappeared, and his face fell.

"I- I- Yes, I would have, of course... But I wanted him to be quiet in your class. I was going to, erm, deal with him later."

Mr Richardson's raised eyebrow showed Martin how well he'd been convinced by that lie.

"Well, he won't be bothering you this evening so I suggest you get an early night so you're wide awake for flying tomorrow."

A bright smile suddenly reappeared on the young man's face and Douglas felt the corner of his mouth twitch in response; he held it back, it would do no good to go grinning at the boy.

"At some point during the morning, come and knock on my door and I'll take you up to the airfield."

"Yes, Sir!" Martin replied, looking a little giddy.

"Now get out of here," Douglas said flippantly, waving the boy away before another smile threatened his lips.

~oOo~

Lying in the empty dorm at eight o'clock that night, Martin's mind swirled with the day’s events, the prospect of flying tomorrow and the checklists he'd been memorizing earlier. Yet he kept coming back to the same thought - Mr Richardson.

Mr Richardson was gay. They'd been rumours, of course, but many had dismissed them as just that - rumour. Mr Richardson seemed like such a masculine sort of man, not a 'puff' as his father would say, so it was easy to dismiss the rumour as easily as the one about Mr Shipwright sleeping with the head-mistress.

Yet he'd been married, at least twice... to men. Nobody in the closet marries a man, and he'd admitted it to freely the previous evening.

He thought for a moment about what exactly his father would say about his gay teacher being married to a man, and then quickly pushed that thought aside.

Married...

The thought turned over in his head. He tried to imagine Douglas as a husband. He tried to picture him interacting with another man like a married couple would - kissing them goodbye with an intimate touch and a smile like the married couples he saw on TV. Cooking together, washing up, having their own space to just be themselves in without the prying eyes or the judgment of people like his father. 

His vivid imagination built a room, a home, all with three walls, his imaginings of a happy home mentally built on the sets he saw on TV.

He quickly found himself imaging himself being that other man - the husband his teacher kissed when he got home. Mr Richardson's arms around him. Mr Richardson's mouth on his, kissing him hard. Mr Richardson taking his hand and leading him to a bedroom.

Martin gave the door to the dorm a glance. It was Friday night and it would be hours before any of his dorm-mates would come to bed. 

Martin bit his lip, and then closing his eyes and imagining his teacher pressing him down onto the bed, he slipped his hand down his pyjama bottoms.


	4. Chapter 4

At eight thirty the following morning Martin bounced a little on the balls of his feet, checked his watch again and then knocked on Mr Richardson's door. 

After a long wait, and then another check of his watch and a tentative second knock, the door opened and his teacher's head popped around the edge.

"Martin? Do you know what time it is?"

"You said 'at some point in the morning, call at my rooms...'" Martin said quickly, blushing.

"It's-" Mr Richardson looked at his watch. "It's half eight, Martin! And on a weekend, that makes it still night-time!"

Douglas cocked his head to the side and sighed as he saw a mixture of embarrassment and disappointment flood over the young man's face.

"I'm- I'm sorry. I'll come back later-"

"Daft boy," Douglas muttered, amusement creeping into his voice. "Get in here - and quickly, this floor is freezing."

Mr Richardson pulled open the door and beckoned him in. 

Martin stepped in, a shy smile appearing on his face at his teacher's indulgence of him. The smile froze a moment later as Mr Richardson closed the door behind him and Martin got a proper look at his physics teacher. 

"Yooo- Yohhh- You were in bed?" Martin stuttered, stating the complete obvious as Mr Richardson stood in front of him wearing just a pair of boxers and creased grey t-shirt. 

Douglas yawned widely then gave Martin a shake of the head that clearly said 'idiot'. 

"There's a coffee machine in the corner - go make magic while I shower."

Douglas yawned and left Martin stood open-mouthed and wandered off to his bathroom, completely oblivious to the concept that his bare thighs would hold such interest to an eighteen year old boy.

There was a steaming cup of coffee waiting for him when Douglas came out of his room fifteen minutes later, dressed in a pair of brown corduroys and a tucked in white shirt. 

Martin was stood by his bookshelf, looking over a series of old photographs when he came back into his lounge. He turned around quickly with a slightly guilty look on his face and Douglas had no doubt the boy would have had a good look around in his absence. He looked past Martin to the pictures.

"Ahh, my much younger days," he said with a smile and walked over to him. He picked up the photo of himself stood in his new Captain's uniform, sat in the cockpit on his first day after his promotion at Air England.

"I suppose you're picturing yourself in the uniform," Douglas said before taking a sip of his coffee.

"Come on," Douglas added. "Bring your coffee, we can drink it on the way - I'll just get my jacket."

"Oh, right, great," Martin acknowledged as his teacher turned and headed back to what Martin assumed to be his bedroom. 

He turned back to the photograph on the shelf and quickly pulled out his phone, opened the camera app and took a quick picture of the smiling, dashing captain in his smart uniform. 

It was less, Martin realized as he stuffed his phone back into his pocket, that he pictured himself in the uniform, rather that he was beginning to picture his teacher out of it.

~oOo~

Martin was buzzing as they arrived at the airfield. This was partly due to the extra strong coffee and partly due to the aviation quiz questions Mr Richardson had started throwing at him as soon as they'd climbed into his rusting Lexus. However, the main reason was the fact he'd just been signed in and then shown by Mr Richardson to the tarmac where the plane he would be flying was sat waiting for him.

"Right," Douglas said watching Martin jig up and down on his toes, staring at the aircraft with undisguised excitement. "Firstly, calm yourself, it's just a Cessna... Secondly, from the questions you answered in the car, I think you're quite capable of doing the walk around yourself," Douglas said, tossing Martin a cloth and a clear plastic tube.

"Really?"

"Really. And if we end up crashing because you missed something I'll fail you in physics. I'll be over here reading the paper - it's a nice day, so take your time."

Douglas turned and sat down on a bench by the hangar door, picking up the newspaper that sat there. He flipped open the first page and then looked up over it at Martin who still stood, staring at him with shock.

"Well, get on with it!" Douglas said, shooing the boy toward the aircraft.

A moment later, Phil, who'd signed them in, came and sat beside Douglas and watched as Martin appeared to race through a series of emotions: shock, worry, doubt, resolve, determination, and finally confidence. 

As Martin grasped his cloth with purpose and headed for the white and blue craft.

"Well, Phil?" Douglas asked in a low voice.

"Gave her a good look over like you asked, she's just been in the shop so she's in good nick. Worst bit is a rivet on one of the flaps that looks funny - I checked the maintenance log and it's fine, just raised, it's solid according to the engineer. Fuel all clear, everything on her is ready to go."

"Cheers, Phil. I'll buy you a pint tonight," Douglas responded as he glanced up from his paper ever few seconds to check Martin's progress. Martin was far too busy checking the fuel quality, holding it up to the light at numerous different angles to notice.

"He's a bit keen," Phil commented, quietly.

"A bit of an understatement," Douglas responded. "I think he has the specs of every active civil aircraft memorised... Yet according the Hercules he couldn't tell you who wrote Hamlet."

"Wasn't he that Kenneth Brannagh, bloke?" Phil asked as Martin started checking the body of the fuselage.

Douglas raised his eyebrow at his companion. "Something like that, Phil."

His eyebrow stayed raised as he looked back towards Martin.

"Martin! You're supposed to be checking for damage, not caressing it like you're trying to coax it into bed!" Douglas called out from the bench.

Martin jumped as his name was called and then flushed bright red, snatching his fingers back from where he'd been touching the welded seem of the fuselage. 

With an embarrassed duck of his head he disappeared around the back of the tail fin. It was another five minutes before he reappeared and approached the two older men.

"There's only one thing... Can you come and take a look at it?"

Douglas gave Phil a quick glance and got up, following Martin back to the plane, in particular to one of the flaps. Phil trailed behind them with amused interest.

"It's this here, this rivet. It looks raised which means it's probably lose," Martin said running his finger over it.

Douglas gave it a quick glance.

"Nah, it'll be fine. Shall we fly?"

Martin looked back at the rivet and then back to his teacher. "But... But it's on the flap," Martin said with genuine concern.

"We've got two flaps, we'll be fine. Jump in."

"But, but... I- I- I shouldn't, I can't. It needs to be checked by an engineer, the rules state that-"

"The rules, Martin? We'll not get an engineer to take a look at this today, it's Saturday! Don't you want to fly?" Douglas said with clear annoyance in his tone.

"We yes! Of course I want to fly! But- But I want to be a good pilot, too..." Mr Richardson looked bordering on angry, but he had to say it. "We should really report it and if it's nothing then it can be entered into the maintenance log, but if it is something then it wouldn't be responsible of me to do a walk around and ignore it."

"Well... If you're going to be like that," Douglas said sarcastically, he left a moment of silence and watched Martin's spine stiffen, expecting his teacher to shout at him for wasting his Saturday.

Instead Douglas grinned. "You'd better take a look at the maintenance log, then, hadn't you? In these aircraft they're usually kept behind the pilot's seat."

Martin scrunched his brow and turned to look up at the cockpit door. Glancing back at his teacher who was now looking expectantly at him, he clambered up to wing, opened the door and reached in to grab the log book. He flipped through it to the latest entries and then looked down at Mr Richardson and the other man who was finding it hard to keep a straight face.

"You knew! You knew and you were testing me!"

Mr Richardson laughed, but there was a pleased smile on his face when he spoke. "I'm always testing you... Remember that. Now while you're up there you may as well clamber in. See you at the pub, Phil." 

Martin was already fixing his seat-belt when he climbed in beside the young man. 

"Okay, is your baggage stowed and your tray table in the upright position?"

"Yes!" Martin answered, nodding eagerly, scanning the control panel.

"Okay, I'll do the take-off, talk you through it, and I want you to keep your hands on the yoke lightly see what movements I make, got it?"

"Yeah!" Martin replied, breathless with excitement.

"Right then, get on with the pre-flight checks - I'm assuming you googled those too?"

"Yes, but for the 172, not the 182."

"They're the same - go for it."

Five minutes later they were taxing to the runway. Two minutes after that, Martin made a loud, embarrassing, giddy squeal of delight as the wheels left the ground.


	5. Chapter 5

When Martin stopped making squeaking sounds and Mr Richardson stopped laughing at him, Martin was able to concentrate despite how tense he was.

Mr Richardson took him on a number of circuits of Fitton, talking through everything he was doing and Martin listened attentively, despite being suddenly conscious of how his teacher's voice sounded over the microphone headset. 

"Think you've got it?" Douglas asked as he came out of the last turn of the circuit.

"Yes, Sir!" Martin barked over the microphone, his voice sounding anxious to his own ears.

"Give it a go then - you have control," Douglas said.

"Thanks," Martin replied, gripping the controls a little tighter.

"I have control," Douglas said, correcting Martin’s response. 

"What? Why? Oh, God, what did I do wrong?" Martin asked panicking and looking over the control gauges, he looked out at the wings and then out of the window to try and see the tail. He looked back at the gauges, checking every single one, murmuring the readings to himself before finally looking at his teacher who was sat calmly, holding the controls. 

"Martin, it's just etiquette to confirm you're taking control, that's all, I wasn't taking control back." Douglas looked back down to the airport below them. 

"However, I am taking control back now," he added.

Martin slumped back in his seat. 

He'd tried so hard not to screw up... And yet he did, he always did. And on his very first flight. Oh, who was he kidding, he'd never be a pilot.

"Sorry," Martin said in a small voice. "I- I'm not very good at etiquettey things... Anything to do with other people, really. Mr Shappey is helping me, but-"

"Martin," Mr Richardson said softy, glancing at the suddenly deflated young man, as he banked the wings. "You'll be fine if you just RELAX!" 

"Sorry, Sir," Martin said, getting anxious again.

Martin could hear his teacher's sigh of frustration and felt even worse.

"Or simply put things into perspective," Douglas added, lining up the aeroplane with the small airport.

"Have you seen Top Gun? Of course you have, why am I even asking... Do you remember why Maverick and Goose get into trouble?"

"Well, buzzing the tower... But-" 

Martin looked out of the cockpit towards the small airport and its small tower and then to his teacher who flashed him a grin.

"But..." He looked down through his side window. "You wouldn't..."

"Oh, I wouldn't, no. You're going to ask permission. Which they'll deny because it's a silly thing to do. Then we'll do it anyway."

"No way!" 

"Oh, Really?" Douglas pressed the radio button on his yoke. "Fitton Tower," he said in a high pitched squeaky voice. "This is Captain Martin Crieff of Sierra Bravo Lima, requesting fly-by."

"That's not-! I don't sound like that!" Martin cried, flustered. Douglas was almost too busy laughing at how red the boy had gone to hear the response.

"Captain Martin Crieff of Sierra Bravo Lima, this is Fitton tower." The voice was clearly Phil's. "Request for fly-by denied. Now if you don't mind I'm going to fill this coffee mug precariously to the top."  
"That's not a proper tower call! He's not being professional and you're certainly not being professional!" Martin exclaimed, flustered. 

"No we're not, because we're in a private plane, on a tiny airfield that hardly gets used on the weekend... And you certainly don't have to be professional, because you're not a professional - you're a student - your job is to make mistakes and learn from them, something you'll never do if you're so wound up about making the mistake in the first place!"

"Oh," Martin said quietly, his teacher's words sinking in. "You think I'm trying too hard?"

"There's a difference between trying ridiculously hard, which I doubt I'd ever get you to stop, and being terrified of failure," Douglas pointed out.

"Okay... I get it now. It's okay to screw up," Martin said, giving a little laugh as he looked out towards the small airport. "You never were going to buzz the tower, were you?"

"Well, of course we are - there's nothing like a major fuck up like defying ATC to put all the rest of the day's screw-ups into perspective... Now, come on, you're in charge of the strafing noises." 

~oOo~

The rest of the day continued in a much more relaxed, and sane, manner, but by four o'clock Phil was reporting increased wind speed and Martin was instructed to turn for home.

"Want to have a go at the landing?" Mr Richardson had asked.

"Yes, please," Martin had responded keenly.

But now, on the approach with flaps at half, Martin felt the wind buffet the small aircraft and tip the wings drastically. 

He glanced quickly over at his teacher's calm profile and then back at the airspeed indicator, trying to figure out at what point he'd need to abort the landing if a big gust flipped them again when they were coming in to land.

Then, suddenly, calmly he realised - these winds were too high for him to try his first landing. He didn't have enough knowledge and experience to cope, and it wasn't his fault. 

"Sir, I think this landing is too much for me. You have control," he said, looking over at Mr Richardson.

Mr Richardson broke into a smile and took the yoke. "I have control," he said. "Well done."

It was another test, Martin realised as Mr Richardson's hand went immediately to change the flaps and he felt their attitude correct. 

And he'd passed - not by landing perfectly, or more realistically, getting them on the ground without killing them, but by admitting he couldn't.

He felt a swell of pride at his teacher's 'well done', and spent the rest of the landing watching Mr Richardson's sure, strong hands on the controls and listening to his calm, rich voice explain the intricacies of landing in gusts.

"Bloody hairy winds!" Phil said as greeting after they taxied straight into the hanger and shut down.

"Maverick," Phil added with a grin and a salute as Martin climbed out of the cockpit. Martin grinned in return.

As Douglas went to chat with Phil, Martin fished out his phone and started taking a series of photos of the Cessna. He was just trying to get his grinning face on one by extending his arm out and trying to find the camera button with his finger when he heard Mr Richardson say a 'see you later' to Phil and turn to him. 

"What are you doing?" 

"Err, I was... I know, it's silly- I was trying to take a picture for my Mum. She'd be please for me and it might coax her into trying to convince Dad into flight school."

Mr Richardson held out his hand and sighed in the ever-suffering way Martin was beginning to associate with amusement.

"Go sit in the cockpit you daft boy!"

"Thanks!" Martin said and scrambled up onto the wing again, before opening the cockpit and sliding inside. 

Meanwhile Douglas' big thumb pressed a button on the touch screen and the camera went off. "Damn things," he muttered to himself before spotting a 'photo' icon. He pressed it and some photos popped up that Martin had just taken - perhaps if he did that swipe movement the kids did in class it would start the camera again. 

But no, instead it scrolled through photos he'd already taken. He paused mid-swipe when a picture of himself appeared, apparently Martin had taken a photo of his framed captaincy photograph - Whatever for?

"Okay!" Martin shouted down.

"Ah, I've lost the damn camera - stupid devices," Douglas moaned.

"Just press the home button at the bottom and then the camera is top-right."

"Oh, right," Douglas said bringing up the camera and taking a few snaps of Martin grinning stupidly.

"Okay, all done - time to lock up."

As he waited for Martin to scramble back down, he thought about the photo. Why would the boy want it? Should he ask him? That could be awkward, Douglas realized. Perhaps the boy even had a crush on him - there'd been a few teenage girls in the past who'd written him cringe worthy love letters.

"Bloody silly old fool," Douglas murmured to himself as Martin slid down off the wing. That was years ago, the young man probably just wanted to Photoshop his own head in the uniform.

"Thanks," Martin said, accepting his phone back and sliding it into his pocket. "I suppose we'd better get back."

There was a wistful tone in his voice that Douglas noted matched the way he looked back at the aircraft.

"Without the traditional after-flight pint? Call yourself a pilot?" Douglas teased. "Come on, we owe Phil at least two pints for buzzing the tower."

"I thought you said this place was full of reprobates?" Martin asked as he entered The Stag behind his teacher.

"It is - I'm a regular!" Mr Richardson called back over the noise of the small band that was warming up in the corner. "And may I say what terrible company you keep," he added, waving to a man who already looked drunk across the room and shouted 'Dougie!'   
"Erm, can I buy you a drink, Mr Richardson?" Martin asked as they approached the bar, feeling terribly grown-up as he did.

"Most certainly! Pint of Speckled Hen, please, Lizzie. And quit calling me Mr. Richardson! You make me feel old.... Older... Really old. Douglas..."

Martin looked at him in surprise. 

"And not Doug, or Dougie, or 'D'," Douglas added with an exaggerated shudder. "Douglas."

"Right, then... Douglas," Martin said, trying out the name. Douglas grinned at him. "Of course," Martin added, "It's only a matter of time before you'll have to call me Captain Crieff."

"Get me my pint, you berk," Douglas said, grinning even wider and sauntering off to find a table.

"You one of the new fly-boys, then?" the barmaid asked.

"Well, sort of," Martin said feeling a rush of pride, as he handed over a tenner.

When Martin edged through the slowly growing throng of people with two pints in his hands, he found Douglas sitting with Phil, a seat saved next to his teacher for him.

"Squadron Leader," Phil said toasting him with his own pint. "How did it go, then? You managed to survive Douglas' instruction without trying to bail-out at five thousand feet, so I'm impressed."

"Ignore him," Douglas said as he laughed at Phil's comment. "He's just jealous because he spends most of his time as ground crew these days."

Just as Martin was beginning to tell Phil about his lesson, he heard a familiar voice call out. "Douglas! Martin!"

Arthur appeared through the crowd with a taller, also familiar man in tow. "Mr Shipwright! Mr Shappey!" 

"Oh, dear Lord, none of that," Mr Shipwright said immediately, placing his pint on the table as Arthur borrowed some chairs from a nearby table so they could join them.

"In the boundaries of the pub I think Herc and Arthur would be best."

"And this is Captain Crieff," Douglas responded for him.

"How did it go Martin?" Arthur enthused, placing what looked like a vodka and orange, and a packet of pork scratchings on the table.

"Fantastic. It was amazing!" Martin responded. "And Mr Rich- Douglas was a brilliant teacher!"

"So he behaved himself, then?" Herc asked, nonchalantly, asking Martin, rather than Douglas.

"Of course I behaved myself. We only buzzed the tower the once," Douglas responded taking a drink.

"And I have to say, the machine-gun sounds from Dog-fighter Crieff here, were exceptional," Phil cut in.

The rest of the evening wore on in a similar fashion. Much banter and well-meaning teasing, and Martin was surprised to see how human his teachers actually were outside the classroom. 

He played a few rounds of pool with Arthur and surprisingly won each and every time.

"Sorry, Arthur," he said after beating the fifth time and re-joining the table. "I'm pacing myself on the pints, perhaps whatever you're drinking is a bit strong."

"It's pineapple juice," Herc interrupted. "Arthur enjoys the fun of driving us all home in his little car."

"A joy you'll experience later after Arthur offers half the pub a ride home."

"What are you drinking?" Arthur asked. 

"Spitfire," Martin answered.

"Martin, why would you choose that particular ale when there's such a selection? Could it have something to do with aeroplanes?" Herc asked, joining in the teasing.

"Says the man named after a world war two bomber," Douglas defended.

Martin was laughing when he spotted someone at the bar waiting to get served.

"Oh, God - Clegg," he said, automatically.

Both Herc and Douglas turned around. "Bloody little shit," Martin heard Douglas say. 

"Do you want the do the standard humiliation routine, or should I?" Herc asked, Douglas.

"By all means," Douglas said waving his hand for Herc to continue.

"You'll enjoy this," he said to Martin.

His English teacher turned and placed his fingers between his lips, whistling over the crowd to the barmaid, who looked up mid-pour.

The whistle had caught most people's attention and most of the pub turned to their table, including Clegg and another two boys from his year.

"Lizzie, those three children are from the boarding school, don't serve them!"

The head that had turned to look at Herc now turned back to Clegg and his friends who were now looking mortified as a few people around them began to jeer.

"Oh, I won't," Lizzie called back over the crowd. "Thought they were waiting for their mums or something. Off with you, you three! Back to school!" she said, waving them away.

Martin knew he'd probably pay for it when Clegg caught up with him in class, but when his red, humiliated face turned to them, Martin couldn't help but smile and toast him with his pint.

"It's been a fantastic day," Martin said to Douglas as they all hustled out at closing time and waited for Arthur to bring the car around. 

Douglas looked please by his words, if now a bit tipsy, and leaned against him a little before speaking quietly so the farmer Arthur had offered a lift to didn't hear him.

"You may have spoken too soon, because Arthur will now attempt to cram six grown men into a small, yellow Nissan Micra. All I can say is that you should have had that last pint to prepare you... Arthur's driving is as good as his pool."

"Oh, God," Martin said as the bright yellow car swung up in front of them.

"Right! Home time!" Arthur said, jumping out enthusiastically. "Herc, you're in the front because you've got the longest legs and Douglas, Phil and Mr Farmer-man who's drunk and can't remember his name, in the back."

"And me?" Martin asked

"Somewhere in the middle in the back - you're small and bendy - you'll fit!"

Douglas laughed at the mild look of insult on Martin's face before climbing in after Phil and the drunken nameless farmer.

"Come on, squidge in," Arthur called as Martin tried to slither in over the top of Douglas' knees. 

"Sorry, sorry!" he said trying to arrange his limbs into the confined space. He twisted and attempted to force himself between the two larger men, but the farmer didn't seem too happy about this and grumbled loudly, forcing Martin to crouch awkwardly not knowing where to put his body.

He looked at Douglas who seemed highly amused. 

"What do I do now?" he hissed loudly at his teacher.

"Oh, come here, it's not too far," Douglas said, reaching out and pulling the young man onto his lap.

"Oh!" Martin gasped as the seat in front of him slid back and Herc climbed in. Arthur climbed in last with a cheery - "I knew we'd all fit!"

Martin sat a little stiffly despite Douglas' arm securely around his waist as Arthur started the car and pulled away.

When Douglas had pulled him back, Martin had automatically put out his hands to cushion his fall and they now rested on Douglas' thighs, and his rear, directly in his teachers lap.

Martin could feel the heat of Douglas' body through his trousers and he sobered very quickly when he realized exactly how close his teacher's groin was to his arse.

And it seemed to Martin that Douglas was right about Arthur's driving - the school counsellor seemed to be hitting every pothole and cats-eye on the road, making him bounce a little on his teacher's lap.

Martin bit his lip and hoped they were dropping off the grumpy farmer and Phil first.

"Chaps?" Arthur asked suddenly from the front. “How many people can you legally have in a Micra?"

Herc twisted his head around. "Ah, bugger, police. Keep your head down, Martin."

Martin felt Douglas' large hand press on his shoulder bending him to the right.

"No way!" Martin said, stiffening. "You're not sticking my head in a farmer's lap!" 

"Snuggle down, then! And get under my coat," Douglas said with a laugh.

Martin had no option than to relax his body and twist sideways and down as much as he could, fitting himself to Douglas' body as his teacher's arms and jacket came around him.

He tucked his head away from view as best he could in the crook of Douglas' neck.

Douglas suddenly cleared his throat and Martin felt the rumble in Douglas' chest as his arms tightened around him.

"The police car is overtaking," Arthur warned and Martin snuggled in tighter, breathing in the warm air at Douglas' neck.

Douglas watched as the police car cruised past, the two officers having a good look inside as they did. "Stay down," he murmured. 

After a few moments Martin heard and exaggerated 'phew!' from Arthur and realized the car must have passed, yet Douglas didn't tell him to move.

He was warm and surprisingly comfortable curled up with his teacher and as the car went quiet, he realized that the drinkers had more than likely started nodding off. 

He closed his own eyes and indulged himself in the closeness of the older man. As before, he could feel Douglas' body heat, and he breathed in the comforting masculine scent he'd somehow already labelled 'Mr Richardson'.

With his eyes closed and the neutral sound of the car engine around them, it was easy for Martin to be drawn back to his fantasies, imagining them alone and curled up in the comfort of his teacher's bed.

The turn of a corner seemed to rouse everyone fractionally and the farmer murmured unintelligibly bedside them. It was then, as they settled back into the lull and Douglas' breathing evened out again, Martin felt the slow, soothing rub of his teacher's thumb across the base of his spine. 

Martin never wanted to reach home.

~oOo~

Sadly, even despite Arthur's choice of route, which Mr Shipwright described as 'covering most of the northern hemisphere', they did eventually arrive back at the school and Martin reluctantly peeled himself away from his teachers warm body.

Martin had mumbled his thanks again as they all sleepily made their way through the darkened halls of the school.

"Come by tomorrow night if you want, we'll go through emergencies. You never know what I'll spring on you next weekend," Douglas had yawned.

"You'll- You'll take me up again?" Martin had asked, suddenly wide-awake again.

"Oh, I suppose so - you weren't too incompetent... and you can manage your beer," Douglas had said, purposefully ignoring his colleagues' raised eyebrow.


	6. Chapter 6

And so, something of a routine began. 

Martin would finish his classes and then wolf down his food in the hall so he could head straight for Mr Richardson's rooms. Of course within those rooms he was 'Douglas', but Martin took extra care to ensure he addressed his teacher correctly outside them.

On the odd occasion Douglas was roped into dinner hall duty, Martin would take his time with his food, have extra pudding, and saunter back with Douglas, discussing the dubious origin of the vegetable side dish, or more likely, flying.

He'd pass, each evening, through Douglas' office, and by the ever growing and teetering pile of marking and knock twice before hearing the murmured call to enter.

Douglas at this point would look up and complain bitterly about something or other, usually how 'bloody freezing it was because Headmistress Scrooge wouldn't turn on the school's rickety old central heating'.

And Martin would set down his bag and arrange newspaper, kindling and logs in the fireplace and get it burning before pulling out his homework. 

They hadn't done this in the first few days - Martin hanging back in his cold dorm to get his homework done, instead. But when he'd wanted confirmation on a physics assignment he'd arrived early one day. 

Douglas didn't seem to mind him doing his homework sat in front of the fire, and he certainly didn't mind sharing the time with Douglas, who would sit across the room behind an old battered pedestal desk, marking work and making derogatory comments about the intellect of his school-mates.

And it did give him the extended opportunity to observe his teacher, helped by the fact the man's reading glasses made everything more than two feet away a total blur.

At some point in the evening, Martin would pack away his work or Douglas would get bored of marking and come over to the second leather armchair in front of the fire, pour himself a whiskey, and Martin one if he nodded his acceptance, and sit and watch him until Martin stopped work. 

This was never a long time because although Martin had no problems watching Douglas work, when the roles reversed, Martin could feel the older man's gaze rather intensely. 

And although he would be lying if he said he didn't like attention, it did make him feel terribly self-conscious... Did his hair need combing? Were his cheeks getting too red? Where his freckles too obvious? 

Needless to say, trying to concentrate on French adverbs was hard at the best of times and he usually lasted a whole three minutes before packing his things away.

Then they'd cover some topic of aviation - emergencies, navigation, weather, cloud formation, international regulation. But sooner or later in the evening they'd drift onto loosely connected topics such as cheese-tray perks, the northern lights, officious customs officials, and the problems surrounding getting patted down with eighty rare orchid bulbs strapped to your person.

Douglas had some great stories and the end of the evening was usually spent with Martin crying with laughter as Douglas recounted one tale or another from his professional flying career.

There was the odd differentiating occurrence - for example, the night Douglas had given him an old leather bound Air England log book that he'd never used with Martin's flying hours to date, logged and signed off. Martin certainly hadn't been emotional as he accepted it reverently... Douglas' fireplace had a terribly smoky chimney.

Another was still, in Martin's mind, a rather surreal moment. He'd been sat, warm and comfortable with his half full whiskey in his hand when Douglas had got up for his third.

It had come out of his mouth before he'd had time to think, and Douglas had paused momentarily, mid-pour.

"Why do you drink so much?"

As soon as he'd asked it, he'd regretted it. Following it up with a quick, embarrassed - "Sorry, sorry. God, that was really rude."

Douglas had smiled and brought his new drink back to his seat and gave Martin a sad sort of smile.

"I've been married three times, and have a matching messy divorce for each, not to mention a couple of serious relationships that have gone a similar way. I started having a drink after the first breakup - I thought my world was ending... A few whiskeys each evening numbed me from my confusion and pain, and I was able to pick up the pieces of my life. 

"Same happened after my husband Steven cheated, except there was a few more whiskeys - second failed relationship in a row, there was double the pain to numb.

"After a few disastrous short-term relationships my need for distraction had gone up, as had my tolerance. Then I met Henry, and for a few years my fondness for the stuff dropped right off... Didn't need it - until of course, he ran off with his Thai Chi teacher.

"I'm afraid it's become rather a habitual comfort for me this past year."

"That's terrible... Did your first husband cheat as well?" Martin asked softly. 

"My first husband, was in fact a wife," Douglas said, taking a sip of his whiskey.

"Oh, your bisexu- sorry, it's really none of my business," Martin backtracked again.

"No, I'm not, which was the problem you see," Douglas explained.

"I was eighteen when I went to flight school and was immediately indoctrinated into the image of the suave, professional and definitely heterosexual airline pilot... At that point flying was my world so it wasn't hard to convince myself that it was all a sliding scale and I could be bi. 

"Then I met Jennifer and she helped the illusion I'd created and was struggling to keep - so I married her.

"I took six years and a daughter to admit the truth. She was sweet and kind and she didn't deserve it when I left her... But I couldn't live like that any longer. It was a very belated realisation that I couldn't deny my sexuality," Douglas finished.

"I'm gay," Martin blurted in response.

"Is that the first time you've said that out loud?" Douglas asked calmly.

"You're not surprised? You knew?"

Douglas didn't want to bring up Arthur's suspicions based on bullying, however, he didn't need to.

"Phil, Hercules and Arthur insist that Lizzie, the barmaid from the Stag, has the most impressive set of tits in the known universe, and watching any of them get served is almost comical," Douglas said.

"I didn't notice," Martin replied.

"Exactly."

Martin laughed go himself. "I've never told anyone... I think my mum can tell, though. Once I bought some porn mags with blondes with big tits showing their bits," Martin said, unconsciously pulling a face. "It was just to see if it did anything for me."

"I take from the grimace it didn't," Douglas stated, slightly amused and already knowing the answer.

Martin shook his head. "Definitely not. But then my Mum found them when she was looking under my bed for a tennis racket and I walked in just as she pulled them out."

"Oh dear," Douglas commented.

"That's what I thought. I thought I was doing to get bollocked. Mum's a straight-laced churchy type, but she just looked relieved and then smiled, and slid them back under the bed without a word."

"Ah... You don't think they'd be accepting?" 

"I don't think they'd be difficult or abusive about it, but it would just another thing on the long list of disappointments they have against my name." 

"If the list is already long and the world won't end, it might be easier to come out," Douglas suggested. 

Martin looked down at his whiskey and then back up at Douglas. He trusted Douglas, not only as his mentor and teacher, but as a friend.

Martin had nodded thoughtfully. "I might write Mum a letter."


	7. Chapter 7

"Douglas!" Hercules Shipwright said as he joined Douglas coming out of the staff room a few weeks later. "I was speaking to Arthur yesterday," he said as they began walking the corridors of the old school together.

"That must have been a delight for you, Hercules," Douglas said in a mocking tone.

"How are your lesson plans going?" Herc asked, seeming to change the topic of conversation.

Douglas raised a brow and gave the English teacher a quick glance "Swimmingly. And yours?"

"Oh, fine... And the flying lessons?"

"Flyingly... I assume as you're getting somewhere with this line of questioning rather than prompting me to come up with new and varied adverbs?"

"He says he's been able to stop his sessions with Martin. Arthur, that is to say."

"Why is everyone so obsessed with that boy?" Douglas bit out, feeling oddly defensive about the subject. Perhaps his conscience was prickling him slightly about the amount of time Martin was spending in his rooms, but everything was above board.

"Because some of us are the caring and feeling type," Hercules snarked back, giving his colleague a calculating look. "I just wondered how it was going from your end? No inquisition."

"And is there a point to this, non-inquisition?"

"Oh, no reason, Arthur just mentioned he seemed happy in his last couple of sessions, and all he talked about was you..."

Douglas swallowed down the flash of euphoria that gave him, and focused on the irritation he had for Herc, instead.

"Really, Herc, for a professor of the English Language and Literature, you should know that most communication of the spoken, or even written kind, has a message, a moral, a point... One you're not getting to very quickly."

"My point is, Douglas," Herc said with exasperation. "And perhaps my moral, too, is to be careful."

"I'm not going to harm the boy!" Douglas said, stopping in the corridor and turning to the other man, defensiveness sweeping back over him. "He's enjoying the extra study time and it's obviously doing him good. That was in fact the point of this whole arrangement, was it not?"

Hercules stopped at the corridor towards the English department just a few feet away.

"What makes you think I was worried about Martin?" Herc asked, and with a shake of his head, he walked off to his classroom, leaving Douglas with his mouth open.

"Mr Richardson?" Douglas heard in a very familiar voice a moment later.

Douglas turned to see Martin approaching, clutching his book bag, and peering at him curiously.

"Martin! Ah..."

Martin raised an eyebrow and looked around them to check he wouldn't be overheard. "Are you okay, Douglas?" 

"Yes, yes... Fine," Douglas said, glancing to where Herc was disappearing into his classroom. "And you?" he added, lamely, head still spinning at Herc's comment.

"The weather report for tomorrow is bad. High gusting winds in the area..." Martin answered, still looking concerned.

"Oh... Well, call around anyway, if it doesn't clear up there's always the back-up plan."

"Back up plan?" Martin asked as the bell for next lesson rang. 

Recovering, Douglas tapped his finger against the side of his nose and walked away, leaving Martin raising a finger and opening his mouth to pose a another question.

~oOo~

Martin arrived the following morning at the now mutually understood time of mid-morning, or as Douglas saw it, weekend daybreak.

Douglas looked up from where he sat with his cup of tea when the young man entered after a quick two knocks. He immediately smirked.

"Well, I was going to ask how the weather was this morning, but-"

Martin attempted to pat down his wind dishevelled hair and right his jacket where it had blown off his shoulder and twisted. He neatened the yellow bands on the cuff that gave his favourite jacket a mock pilot style.

"This was just from crossing the quad!" Martin moaned, somehow making his hair even worse by his fussing. "So what's this back up plan you refused to tell me about yesterday?"

"I thought we'd spend the day in hangers," Douglas said.

"Oh, yes. I suppose I do owe her a good clean down and check over and I could go through the tech specs on her and- Why are you grinning at me like that? That grin usually means I'm being stupid and you're amused by it," Martin asked, suspicious.

Douglas should have known better than to expect Martin to be disappointed at the prospect of being stuck in a hanger all day.

"I didn't say which hangar, Martin. And I did use the plural... I thought we'd have a trip out to Duxford."

"The air museum?" Martin asked, dashing forward and sitting himself on the edge of his usual chair in front of Douglas.

"Yes. I only went once - with a group of first years before you started school here. I didn't get to see much because I spent four hours trying to catch the little blighters - they all scuttled off in different directions like cockroaches as soon as we arrived. I've refused to do a school trip since. I keep meaning to go back and look at the aircraft, rather than under them, but I'd feel like a bit of a prat on my own."

"They've got the test Concorde!" Martin said leaping up again. "Finish your tea! Where's your coat? Do you know where your car keys are?"

Douglas laughed. "Tea, cannot be rushed!"

Martin had grabbed Douglas' coat from the rack and fished his car keys out of the old Air England mug on the mantelpiece by the time Douglas had taken his next sip. 

He stood beside Douglas' chair and held the jacket open, expectantly. When Douglas refused to acknowledge him, Martin rattled the car keys.

Douglas sighed. "I'm not going to be allowed to enjoy my tea, am I?"

"No. Not really, no," Martin confirmed, waggling Douglas' jacket at him, meaningfully.

Douglas sighed again, muttered under his breath, but got up, hiding, as best he could, his smile.


	8. Chapter 8

"If you're good I'll buy you a little Hurricane mobile on a string for your dorm," Douglas joked as they paid for their tickets and were filtered predictably into the Duxford Air Museum shop.

"I'd prefer the restored Gloster Meteor they've got in the hanger one," Martin answered, peering at the free map.

"Ah, you’re high maintenance, I should have guessed," Douglas joked, before he time to think about his comment. 

Martin simply cast him a glance and grinned. "And you'd make an atrocious sugar-daddy," Martin joked back, easily.

Despite starting the teasing exchange, it was Douglas who suddenly felt uncomfortable. What he said could be construed as flirtatious... It was flirtatious, and Martin was just a boy. He studied him for a few moments as Martin continued checking the map, murmuring 'Airspace hall first, then Battle of Britain... We'll do hangar two on the way back'.

He wasn't a boy, Douglas realized. Or at least that he'd stopped thinking of Martin as a boy somewhere between that first meeting in his rooms and now... Because now, stood in front of him, was a keen, intelligent and quite lovely young man. An eighteen year old, and very legal, lovely young man.

In response to the rather disconcerting realisation, Douglas grabbed the guidebook from under Martin's arm and strode off towards the shop exit. "Let’s go and find the Douglas C47 Skytrain!"

"Oh, Douglas, you big kid!" Martin moaned, following him regardless. "We'll never get to see everything if we don't make a schedule!"

~oOo~

Now the thought had formed solidly in his mind, Douglas found he struggled to concentrate on the aircraft he'd come to see today. 

Instead of the 'amazing feat of engineering', 'beautiful lines', or 'interesting history' of the planes Martin was continually pointing out, Douglas instead found himself focusing on coy smiles, a young, lean body, and the rather stunningly shaped mouth, not to mention the delightfully shaped denim clad rear that kept diving into cockpits and fuselages in front of him.

He recalled their first few evenings and weekends together, Martin seeming awkward and shy and somewhat in awe of the ex-commercial pilot. Yet this morning Martin had bullied and hustled him out of the door like a nagging husband. 

He'd been pleased to see Martin's confidence increase as much as his skill in flying, and the rapport between them was growing by the day.

Douglas thought back to the photograph he'd found on Martin's phone after that first flight. He entertained the original thought he'd had for a moment, while Martin studied the merlin engine in front of him in a worrisome level of detail.

It wasn't out of the realms of reason that Martin might have some level of attraction to him... He was a little soft around the middle, but kept himself in decent enough shape, they certainly shared interests and Martin did opt to spend all his spare time with Douglas - unheard of for a standard pupil and teacher relationship.

And the friendlier they got the more Douglas had found himself thinking of the young man as a companion rather than a pupil. He may look the part of a schoolboy - he was a little on the short side, and skinny as a whippet and had a propensity to blush red in a rather adorable manner - but his conversation was intelligent, his humour complimentary to his own and his lithe body did have an appeal that Douglas could no longer deny. 

"This had seventy pounds of thrust," Martin murmured, reading the entry in the guide book.

Douglas leaned over and waggled his eyebrows. "Impressive thrust is one thing, Martin, staying power is another..."

Martin giggled in response, but the top of Martin's cheek bones and ears flushed red.

Martin coughed. "Umm, let's go see the American planes," he mumbled, pulling out the map he'd already memorised. Douglas followed with a grin.

"Wow, look at the Blackbird!" Martin exclaimed minutes later, looking past the few people who'd caused congestion around the entryway. "And the bombers! Look at the bombers!"

"Martin, stop bouncing, it's...very distracting," Douglas said with a hint of a leer. It really was. 

Now the concept of Martin being both interested and legal had entered his mind Douglas found himself automatically flirting with the boy.

Martin laughed and then dashed off as soon as he could get past the crowd of people to start inspecting the craft. Douglas spotted a bench and decided to watch him from the side-lines.

He'd just sat down when a man at the other end of the bench spoke up. 

"Your son looks as keen as mine - they tire you out, don't they?" he said jovially.

It was like a bucket of ice-cold water over his libido.


	9. Chapter 9

Douglas tried hard over the next few days to reign back his flirtatious comments and did his very best to stop leering at the boy, which in itself was much more difficult than controlling the flirting comments.

Especially when, on a Tuesday night, hours after Martin had headed back to his dorm early, complaining of a cold and Douglas had already turned in for bed, there came a quiet knock to the door.

Douglas wasn't sure he'd really heard it, lying in bed, listening. He glanced at the clock which read 1:47AM in glowing red numbers. When the second knock came, quieter this time, Douglas got up, wrapped himself in his dressing gown and crossed the dark living room to the door.

"Martin?" 

Martin looked up at him and in the dim light coming from the bedroom behind him he could see the young man dressed in blue pyjamas. His sock-less feet were shoved into untied school shoes and his favourite blue jacket, that wasn't really suitable for Autumn in Fitton, was wrapped around him tightly as he fought the shivers.

"Sorry Douglas, my dorm-mates threw me out because I was coughing and sneezing and keeping them awake, and told me to go to the nurse, but she's on holiday," Martin sniffled.

"Well," Douglas said, pulling the boy inside. "The stand-in is Carolyn - Mrs Knapp-Shappey," Douglas clarified. "But I doubt waking her would do any good for your health... Get by the fire, I'll stick a few more logs on."

Douglas poked the dying ambers and coaxed the fire back to life with paper and kindling before adding a couple of logs.

"Right, a Lemsip hot-toddy, and a warm bed, I think," Douglas stated, emptying a shot of whiskey into a mug followed by a green sachet of lemon cold mixture he pulled from drawer.

By the time Douglas pressed the warm mug into the young man's hands, Martin looked sleepy and comfortable. Half a mug later, Douglas rescued the cup from his hand before the sleeping boy spilled it all over himself.

Douglas put the mug on the mantelpiece and then turned back around and looked at Martin, curled up and quiet in his sleep. He scratched his head and sighed. The fire would burn out in a couple of hours and the boy would be left cold and uncomfortable.

Sliding one arm under the sleeping boy's back and the other under his legs, Douglas lifted the disturbingly light student from his chair and walked into his bedroom with the teenager in still sleeping in his arms.

He tucked Martin under his still warm covers and pressed a hand gently to his forehead feeling a slight fever.

Perhaps he felt fatherly, Douglas reasoned as Martin's eyes fluttered open and looked at him drowsily.

Martin smiled at him before sinking back into sleep and Douglas realised there was no way the feelings he had were paternal.

With another sigh, Douglas grabbed a spare blanket and pillow from the wardrobe and made his way back out to the living room.

~oOo~

Martin woke up the following morning and had momentary disorientation before remembering his cold traipse to Douglas' rooms the night before.

He looked around the room, taking in the dark, rich colours of the furnishings, spotting Douglas' striped scarf draped over the wardrobe handle and the book he was reading on the small bedside table, next to the clock that read 9:55AM.

9:55AM? 9:55AM meant he was late for class! 

Martin felt decidedly rough when he bolted upright, intent on throwing the covers off himself. However a bright pink post-it note caught his attention from the opposite bedside table.

It was stuck on the edge of a plate of cold buttered toast, and written in Douglas' distinct, inky, slanted scrawl.

"I'll inform the headmistress you're not well enough to go to class today - get some rest, drink some Lemsip and try not to snot on anything. D.

P.S. you snore like an asthmatic walrus."

Martin smiled and folded the post-it note, sliding it into the top pocket of his pyjama top. He got up slowly and went out into the other room to make himself a Lemsip as instructed and attempted to eat the toast.

Before he could reach the last piece, Martin started to feel sleepy again and padded back into the bedroom to stare at the rumpled bed. Douglas' bed. 

This is where Douglas lay all night and became sleep rumpled, like Martin had seen him that first morning. 

This was the setting to every one of his recent fantasies. Well, most of them - there was the odd one in the hangar and a long lingering kiss one in the Cessna cockpit, but all the really good ones happened here.

Placing the Lemsip on the side cabinet beside Douglas' book, Martin slid back under the heavy blankets and snuggled down into the soft pillows, turning his head to take in his teacher's familiar scent.

From the pillow and blanket on the chair outside, Douglas must have slept in front of the fire. He closed his eyes and imagined that he hadn't; that instead he'd woken to find himself in Douglas' arms, snuggled warmly against his chest.

It took a predictably short time for the teenager's thoughts to twist to the more carnal, and before long, Martin had pushed down the heavy blankets and slipped his hand inside his pyjama bottoms.

~oOo~

"Right, you lot! No homework, get out!" Douglas had bellowed at his second years, who quite understandably dashed out before their teacher changed his mind.

Douglas used the fifteen minutes break time before his next lesson to make his way back to his rooms to check on Martin.

Despite traipsing around his bedroom this morning, collecting clothes, his glasses and other paraphernalia, Martin hadn't stirred once, instead lying like the dead and snoring gently due to his blocked sinuses.

It was just concern for the young man's health, he rationalised, and in no way associated with wanting to see the boy in his bed once more.

Just in case Martin was still asleep, Douglas opened the door quietly and was pleased to see an empty Lemsip packet and a plate of mostly eaten toast on the side table.

Smiling, he approached his bedroom door, which sat ajar, and peered in, expecting to see Martin still lying like a skinny star-fish under his covers.

What he saw, however made him inhale sharply, and he stopped himself making a gasp at the last moment.

Martin had the blankets pushed down to his thighs, as where his pyjama bottoms, all to expose the cock which he was fisting furiously. His other hand slid up and down his chest, exposing flushed smooth skin and a flash of nipple when he writhed up into his own touch.

The young man's gasps were just audible and went straight to his own groin and Douglas bit his lip to stop any sound as he watched, mesmerized by the wanton display in his own bed.

A moment later Martin made the softest, most erotic sound he'd ever heard - a stifled whimper as his hand stilled suddenly, his hips thrust up and Douglas watched as spurts of come dribbled down the boy's fingers and into the nest of ginger curls.

As Martin lay panting, smeared hand still loosely around his cock, Douglas realised this was not the place he wanted to be found, and with great care, exited his rooms as quietly as he'd entered.

Leaning against the corridor wall a moment later, Douglas wondered how the hell he'd get rid of this erection before the next class.

Returning at lunch time, Douglas brought along a sandwich and apple from the dining hall and loudly announced himself as he entered. 

He needn't have worried because Martin was sat at his desk, a pile of his marking in front of him and a pencil in his hand.

He was also wearing Douglas' thick burgundy dressing robe which, though drowning the boy, made something squirm in his stomach in a very pleasant way.

"Hi! I hope this is okay! I got bored and there was the first year pile of marking with the answer sheet and I just wanted to help out," Martin spluttered out, obviously worried he'd overstepped his mark.

"Do as many as you like! In fact, you can teach the first to third years if you like, it'd give me a bloody rest. I take it you’re feeling better?" Douglas said, handing Martin the sandwiches.

"Still a bit tired but I've stopped 'snotting' you'll be glad to hear and the aches and headache has gone."

"That's good," Douglas said, pausing awkwardly. The image of Martin twisting in his bed sheets as he pumped himself to climax popped back to the forefront of his mind, the way it had continually for the last two hours. "You'll stay here though until this evening?" Douglas asked.

"Definitely," Martin said, not looking up from the marking to notice the flush on Douglas' cheeks. "If only because I'd rather not walk back to the dorm in daylight wearing only my pyjamas." 

"Right then," Douglas said, and made his second quick exit of the day.

That evening, their roles seemed oddly reversed. Martin had rather taken to the marking and spent the early evening, as Douglas usually did, marking papers. And, to Douglas' amusement, making derogatory comments about the first years' intelligence. 

"Question - What type of energy is stored in fossil fuels? Answer - Dinosaur energy... Seriously, how do these kids not accidentally drink bleach or just forget to breathe?"


	10. Chapter 10

'Where r u?' Martin texted from the following day's Physics class. 

Arthur was stood at the front trying, and failing, to get everyone to pay attention after announcing that he was standing in for Mr Richardson due to unforeseen circumstances.

'Dying. Your fault. And it's 'are you'!' Came the reply a minute later.

'Oh no! Sorry! :-('

'You should be - text speak is an abomination. What's Arthur teaching you?'

Martin looked up at where Arthur was frowning at a diagram of polar electromagnetism and doing his best to read correctly from the assigned text, and then on his phone typed - 'How physics can prove red cars always go faster than other coloured cars'

'And how yellow cars are happiest?'

'Well, obviously. We've already touched on how you should jump at the last moment in a falling lift and the thermodynamics of jam toasties...'

'You may want to skip this evening. I'm not much company."

'I can bring you dinner from the hall and do a bit more marking if you like.'

There was a pause before the next response. 

'OK. Bring Lemsip from headmistress - some moron has run my stash dry.'

'Will do. Got to go - texting in class is banned, you know. Lucky usual teacher not here he's a right bastard for stuff like that.' Martin pressed send and then worried he'd overstepped the mark.

A mobile vibrated a second later. 

'I hear he's devilishly handsome, though.'

Martin grinned to himself and tried to think if a witty comeback, but everything that popped into his head world either blatantly reveal his crush or sound insulting, and soon it felt too long a pause to send a text anyway.

~oOo~

After last class, Martin called by the head-mistresses' office and knocked. 

"Come!" she shouted. 

"Hello, Headmistress," Martin said as politely as possible. Carolyn Knapp-Shappey's eyes scanned him from behind her desk. "Mr Richardson asked me to pop by for some Lemsips."

"Oh, God! He's not got flu has he? He doesn't need me to visit or anything does he?" she asked, dropping her pen and looking hassled. "Lord, trust the nurse to be on holiday when Douglas gets sick."  
"No, no... Just some Lemsip, I'll take it to him," Martin answered, perplexed.

"Ah, excellent!" she said, brightening and getting up and opening a large filing cabinet. She seemed suddenly far more friendly.

"I've noticed your marks are improving across the subjects, Crieff. Well done. May I enquire into this burst of scholarly effort?"

"Oh," Martin said blushing a little. "Mr Richardson, actually."

"But he only teaches Physics," she said, pulling out two packets of Lemsips, a pack of pain killers, some cough mixture, and some Vicks Vapour Rub.

"Well, I want to be a pilot and he pointed out I'll look a bit stupid if I can't do the Maths in my head - fuel calculations and the like. Science so I can spot and understand things like oxidization and why carrying Mercury is bad, and Geography because I'd look stupid not knowing where the city I'm flying to is and if there's mountain ranges I'd rather not bump into."

Carolyn raised an eyebrow. "And English?"

"Word games are a staple form of communication between captain and first officer, apparently."

"French seems to be the only subject without improvement."

"Well, I'm sure Dou- Mr Richardson's manipulation techniques have their limit."

"I see," she said, her lips twitching. "Well done, in any case."

"Thanks, Miss," Martin said, accepting the bundle of cold medicine into his arms and frowning.

"And for your own sanity, Crieff, give the man a wide birth while he's ill. As soon as Mr Richardson gets a sniffle he makes Gengis Kahn look like Ghandi."

"Oh, with the extra lessons, I'm used to his grumpiness," Martin said, stuffing medications into his jacket pocket.

"Well - Don't say I didn't warn you," the headmistress said.

~oOo~

"This is ALL YOUR FAULT!" was the harsh criticism Martin was greeted with as he came through the door, baring a roast chicken dinner between two plates.

Martin paused, took one look at Douglas and smiled.

"If it started yesterday it should be gone by tonight. Mine only lasted twenty four hours," Martin responded, ignoring the evil glare from the pile of blankets propped in the armchair.

"You have a young, robust immune system," Douglas countered, taking the offered plate. Martin handed him some cutlery from his back pocket.

"Mine's old and pickled. I think I may have already actually died. I'm the undead. I'm a zombie."

"You're a bit dramatic, aren't you?" Martin said, automatically taking off his jacket and starting to build a fire in the grate. "And look on the bright-side, if you're now a zombie the students are still perfectly safe if you're right about us having no brains."

"Nod fuddy," Douglas sniffled, reaching for his tissue again.

"You'd have been warmer if you'd have lit the fire!"

"Your job," came Douglas' immediate response.

Martin tutted.

"I hate you," Douglas snarked, punctuating his whine with a long, snotty blow of his nose.

With the fire catching light, Martin looked back at the bundle of blankets, where Douglas was all cuddled up, floppy haired, red nosed and sulky. He looked adorable to Martin, despite the crankiness.

Douglas poked a fork into gravy covered mash and tasted it with suspicion. He slumped and pouted, looking at the plate as though it had personally slighted him.

"Can't taste a thing! This is all your fault!" Douglas moaned from his blanket pile.

"Yes it is... I'm horrid and evil - now stop moaning, and if you eat all your vegetables I'll sneak your whiskey to the kitchens later make you a proper hot-toddy."

"Hate you," Douglas muttered, but picked up his fork again and slowly started to eat.

"’Course you do," Martin said, hiding his smile as he pulled out his homework and took his usual seat.

A few hours, and a full flask and a half of Martin's generously measured hot-toddy later, Douglas was feeling much better, mainly due to the medicinal power of alcohol rather than a reduction in symptoms.

His grumbles weren't easing, but were now interspersed with the odd silly notion. Martin wasn't much better, having fixed himself his own flask.

Sensing his teacher’s weakness, Martin decided to ask a few questions he'd been wondering about. 

"If you loved flying, why did you start teaching physics?" Martin asked boldly.

"Lost my captaincy after my first officer and cabin crew complained about my drinking habits one too many times… I never flew drunk, but it wasn’t a good behaviour to be displaying as an airline captain. It’s a small industry and I simply couldn’t find another job – too many talented upstarts like you coming into the business and working for peanuts.”

“Oh, Douglas,” Martin said, sobering himself slightly.

“Oh, it’s not too bad. Carlyon gave me a job and I do love physics - it puts orders the world when sometimes you think there is none," Douglas' replied cryptically as he poured himself another hot-toddy from the flask.

"Studying physics ruins some things for me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s my favourite subject, bar flying but... the reality of it all, there's no room left for wonder," Martin mused, wiggling his stockinged feet in front of the fire. "I guess that's where religion and spiritualism capture people’s interest... There's still a need for wonder, maybe for a god, but then again, no one ever goes to our chapel willingly."

"You're made of stardust," Douglas said, randomly.

"What?" Martin asked, wrinkling his nose and looking at the blanketed version of his teacher.

"All matter in the universe, including the stuff that makes up your sweet, innocent little self, was created in the bang, the big one, or moments after, as the elements were formed. O you're made of the same things stars are. Add to that, you're on a planet, whizzing twenty four thousand miles an hour around a giant burning ball of gas and we're all traveling away from the centre of the universe at an enormous rate... When it comes down to it Martin, you're a stardust man, flying at least as fast as the universe... As realties goes, it's a pretty good one."

"Deep," Martin answered, a little sarcasm in his tone.

"Yes, it was rather... I think maybe I've had too many hot toddies... The flask was a marvellous idea," Douglas said, looking at the flask before turning back to Martin. "Anyway, my turn."

"Huh?" Martin answered, watching the flames.

"For noseying questions - yes, I knew what you were doing... How about your sessions with Arthur. How are they going?" Douglas asked, knowing full well they'd finished.

"I don't need them anymore," Martin said, glancing over at Douglas to see if he was smirking. He wasn't.

"Good, good," Douglas said, genuinely. "I've had a few counselling sessions myself in my time. Very helpful... Though I can't imagine them with Arthur. Surely you go in sane and come out mad?"

Martin laughed and Douglas could tell he was more at ease now he'd mentioned his own counselling.

"No. Arthur's really good at listening and putting perspective on how I felt about myself. I don't- I mean- I didn't have a particularly high opinion of myself. No one else did, so why should I... Anyway, I just used to get this voice - not a real one - in the back of my head, sniping at me, agreeing with people who treated me badly. It just made me... sad."

There was a few moments of silence between them before Douglas spoke. 

"And now?" Douglas asked, softly.

"I'm better. Brilliant, in fact - especially with the flying and... Well, everything."

"I'm glad, and just so you know, I'm good at listening as well - if you need an ear."

Martin ducked his head but Douglas could tell the boy was smiling.

~oOo~

"Crieff!" Douglas called out as Martin exited the breakfast hall the next morning. As usual, Martin was alone, but students were streaming out of the breakfast hall around him, headed for their first class.

"Mr Richardson?" Martin said as the moved to the edge of the corridor and a little more privacy. 

"You lived, then?" Martin asked with a little smile, checking they wouldn't be overheard. Despite the fact nothing they were saying was secret, or even questionable, Martin didn't want other students to know about his flying, or his time with Douglas - it was his, and he didn't want nasty peoples comments to taint that.

"I'm putting my miraculous recovery down to divine intervention and hot-toddy," Douglas replied, a twitch of a smile on his face.

"Nothing to do with it being a 24 hour bug, then."

"It was nothing of the sort; I was at death's door. Listen, I have some business in Fitton tonight, so I'm afraid you'll have to play croquet or sniff glue or whatever the senior year do in their spare time."

"Oh... Anything I can help with?" Martin asked, unable to hide his disappointment.

"I'm afraid not. Need to see a man about a truffle soufflé."

Martian frowned.

"I'm assuming you want to fly this weekend, though?"

"Yes, of course," Martin answered, brightening.

"I'm thinking of something different this time. Knock on my door at eight AM."

"But isn't that still night-time?" Martin questioned, his voice thick with sarcasm.

"Shut up," Douglas snarked back, trying to hide a smile and watching a group of third years pass. He spoke again once they'd gone out of earshot.

"And... Thank you for looking after me last night. I- I've been told I don't have the most pleasant of temperaments when I'm ill and, well, most people don't have the patience to put up with me like that," Douglas said, looking a little uncomfortable by the admission.

"It's the least I could do," Martin answered immediately. "You've done so much for me, and well, you looked after me too... And besides," he said grinning. "It was, as you said repeatedly, 'ALLLLL MYYYY FAULLLTTT!'"

Douglas laughed at the impression of him and cuffed Martin lightly behind the ear.

"Eight AM. Don't forget," Douglas said before wandering off into the bustle of the busy corridor.

As if he would.


	11. Chapter 11

At lunch time, Douglas visited Carolyn's office, popping his head around the door.

"I'm borrowing Phil's Cessna again to do a run to Jacques'. Want anything?"

"Oh, yes... Some of that camembert like last time and a case of that Chateaux neuf whatever it was, and a case of the usual."

"Du Pape... I take it you want me to put it on the school account, even though you'll be having private cheese and wine evenings for the rest of the month?"

"Oh certainly! I see it as compensation for coping with the little brats all day. Here's the cheque book."

"Have you still got Martin's passport from that that coach trip to Brussels last April?"

"I think so, why?"

"Thought I'd take him along to do the heavy lifting."

"Without his parent's consent?"

"He's eighteen, isn't he? Besides we're just popping over for lunch. You don't need parental approval for feeding the students, surely?"

"You're taking him to a different country, Douglas," Carolyn pointed out, ignoring the irritation she saw on the other teacher's face. "You're taking an eighteen year old boy for a champagne lunch in 18th century French vin-yard..."

"Oh, one glass at the most - we're flying! And if I could buy fine wine and cheeses dirt-cheap from a vineyard in Fitton, then I wouldn't have to leave the country, however, as Fitton has never been classed as part of the Champagne region, I'm afraid it's fly and get champagne or stay in Fitton and drink tap water. Besides, I'm also getting truffles for Terry at the bistro."

"Douglas..." Carolyn said warningly.

"Oh, Carolyn! The boy will get flight time - isn't that what your meddlesome son wanted?"

"Oh, alright. Here," she said, flipping through a filing cabinet and throwing him a burgundy passport. 

"Oh, and you owe him nineteen pounds and ninety two pence. Should I write that from the cheque book, too?"

"What? Why?!" Carolyn cried.

"Because he's been doing the physics homework marking. Two hours a night at minimum wage per hour, two nights so far. Seems fair."

"It's not fair to me! That's your job! A job which I already pay you for!"

"Yes... But we both know I was never going to do it! At least this way when you tell the parents committee you're making your students employable, it will be true!" Douglas said with a wink.

"Will I get your backlog done any other way?" Carolyn asked with a sigh.

"What do you think?"

Carolyn waved her hand in defeat. "Get out of here - go! I've had enough. And this cheese had better be superb!"

~oOo~

"How's your marks in Miss Fairburn's class?" Douglas asked as they were leaving Fitton's airspace the following morning at the ridiculously early time of nine in the morning.

"French? Pretty awful, why?" Martin asked, refusing to be distracted as he checked the altimeter, speed, temperature and wing balance in sequence.

"Oh, no reason..." Douglas said before flicking the radio switch.

"Fitton tower, Golf Oscar Sierra Bravo Lima. Established on track to Chalons-en-Champagne, zero nine five, climbing to eight thousand. Sierra Bravo Lima."

"What? Chalons de what? France?" Martin spluttered. ATC butted in before Martin could continue.

"Thank you, Sierra Bravo Lima. Change frequency to one two six decimal zero," interrupted ATC.

Douglas grinned as his young trainee co-pilot did a fish impression by his side.

"Well, aren't you going to answer the tower?" Douglas chastised, throwing Martin completely, and expecting to have to make the call himself. 

Martin however grabbed the radio switch on the yoke and collected himself. "Errmmmm, frequency change to one two six decimal zero. Thank you, tower."

Douglas was laughing as Martin let go of the radio. "I thought we were doing another few circuits!?"

"A professional pilot must be ready to handle a diversion at any time, in case of an emergency..."

"And what's the emergency that would divert us to France?!"

"Your head mistress is out of posh cheese," Douglas answered, in mock seriousness. "You don't want to see her without her camembert, trust me... Don't worry, I've got your passport in my jacket pocket."

Martin laughed, feeling giddy and sat back in his seat. "Well, of course you do," He said, feigning composure at his surprise flight to France.

In Douglas' opinion, Martin did a little too well coping with that radio call after a surprise. In honesty, he was impressed. He wasn't expecting the boy to remember the aircraft's call-sign after that shock, never mind the radio frequency they were to change to. Douglas smiled to himself - it was a few hours to their destination.

"I got up ridiculously early this morning for the second weekend in a row and I could do with a nap. You have control."

"WHA- WHAT?"

"And I'd advise making your radio calls in French as much as possible, the small airstrips get a bit cranky if you can't speak the local lingo and may even divert you if they don't like your tone."

Douglas' detour to Europe turned out to be mainly in aid of supplying Fitton's French bistro with wine, cheese and especially truffles for which the restaurant owner preferred a much more direct delivery than through customs, and was willing to pay heavily for. 

And as it turned out for Martin, not knowing French very well meant he had the opportunity to listen to Douglas' velvet voice wrap his tongue around the French language in order to instruct him what to say. It was a mystery to Martin how he managed to land in one piece.

"My God... My first foreign landing," Martin gasped as he jumped down onto the warm tarmac.

Douglas walked around the plane, giving the propellers a quick check as he went and place a hand on the shoulder of his smiling student.

"And an excellent landing, too. We were close to the max crosswind with only one runway, but you handled it well."

Martin turned to him, still grinning from ear to ear, and swiftly engulfed him in a hug.

"Thank you, Douglas!" Martin said, clutching him. "This is amazing!"

Douglas, though a little surprised by the outburst, was a little disappointed when Martin let go. "It's just... I took the take-off, you let me fly the whole way which is great for my log book, and you let me land even with a cross wind. I've flown to another country, Douglas!"

"You won't be saying that in a few years’ time. I'll be 'Oh, god - Landing in Rio again? How dull," Douglas responded, playing it down.

"Never! I'll never feel like that! What was your first foreign landing?" Martin asked, still glowing with happiness and excitement.

"First of May, nineteen seventy nine. Jersey. It had been fine when my instructor and I had set off, but it was throwing it down when we got there. I taxied to the entirely wrong stand because I was too busy being chuffed with myself for the landing."

Douglas laughed as Martin flung his arms around his neck a second time. "You knew how important this was and you've made it perfect. Thank you!"

This time Douglas wrapped his arms around the boy and hugged back.

"Am I interrupting anything?" came a heavily French accented accent from their right.

Martin tensed and Douglas patted his back before releasing him.

"Jacques!" Douglas said with a big smile, offering his hand. "Jacques this is Martin, who I'm teaching to fly, and Martin, this Jacques, my first officer for a time and the man who once helped me smuggle eight-thousand Furbies out of China."

"I still have nightmares about that," Jacques said grinning and shaking Douglas' hand. He then turned to Martin, warmly shaking his. "It is a long flight over Russia... Not nearly as long as when you have thousands of children’s toys chattering madly to each other because the captain did not check they were switched off!"

Martin laughed, but felt a pang of irrational jealousy when Jacques wrapped his arm around his friend's shoulder. "Come on. There's business and lunch to attend to."

Jacques led them through the small airport building, to a waiting open-top jeep. Martin clambered in the back automatically, suddenly feeling very young as Douglas and Jacques started to talk in half-English, half-French, about French politics and the new president. 

However, they very quickly left the small, more industrial area and passed through a pretty old French town and then out into the countryside, and Martin was mesmerized by the scenery.

It was probably raining back in Fitton, but here it was warm and the sun was shining, and they were passing by field after field of vines. Martin pulled off his jacket and wrapped it around his waist, so that he could feel the sun on his arms. The warm air whipped by him and when Douglas turned around from the front seat and smiled at him, he couldn't have felt better.

They arrived at what looked to Martin like an old chateaux, but Jacques referred to as his farmhouse, and a woman with long flowing brunette hair came out to greet them with hugs.  
She was introduced as Jacques' wife, Marianne, which quelled any last shred of Martin's jealousy, and he happily took her up on the offer of a look around the vineyard.

"Come - they have their boring business to do, and if we're lucky we can avoid loading up the jeep," Marianne said, beckoning Martin to the vineyard. 

"The vines are full for the late harvest, shame you didn't come next weekend, I would have you in a vat up to your ankles in them!" Marianne laughed, and Martin grinned and followed her to look at the vines which started at the end of the orange stone terrace.

"You're English?" Martin asked as they strolled down the stone steps.

"Yes. I was a stewardess with Air England when I met my husband. Or rather, Douglas introduced me to his first officer."

"Really?" Martin asked, pleased at the opportunity to hear of Douglas' piloting days from a third party.

Marianne was very pretty, and reminded Martin of the TV chef, Nigella, who tended to lick food and spoons a lot, for reasons that didn't appeal to him in the slightest.

"Oh, yes. Of course, originally, it was the handsome, dashing Captain Richardson all the stewardesses' wanted. Including myself," She said giving him a smirk as they entered the vines. 

"None of the girls, even the Pan Am girls, had managed get Captain Richardson. He was the holy grail of romantic stop-overs. So I made him my mission - decided to befriend him and found him the loveliest, wittiest, educated man..." she said, pausing to pluck off a few grapes and hand them to Martin.  
"And, as I found out, entirely gay." 

"Luckily, he deemed me nice enough to introduce to his young first officer. Jacques was fresh from his first job with a small French charter company, struggled with his English and tended to be the butt of quite a few Francophobic jokes and abuse through-out the whole company. Off course, Douglas, being Douglas, didn't stand for any of it, and protected him fiercely."

Martin smiled, recognizing Douglas' behaviour. "Yes, he does have that trait, doesn't he?"

Marianne smiled at him knowingly. "And Douglas does not make friends lightly..." she added with implication. "And of course, he was right, and I fell for Jacques in a matter of days. We were married within three months of our introduction and Douglas was our best man. Now... try this grape."

Back on the terrace, Jacques and Douglas watched the pair as Martin picked another grape and laughed at something Marianne said.

"A bit young for you isn't he, my friend?" Jacques asked Douglas in stilted English, as they watched Martin pick another grape.

"He's just a keen student with an interest in aviation..." Douglas, defended, casting his friend a look.

"C'est un joli garçon, Douglas... How do you say? Twink?"

"Very funny, Jacques."

"Well, I hope I am right in thinking he is not 'just' a flight student. It is happy for me to see you smiling like you were at the airfield back there," Jacques said, a little more seriously. "I'm glad you are getting over Henry. This young man is just what you need!"

Douglas scoffed at his friend and changed the subject. "So, you have wine, cheese and enough truffles to keep a bistro going six months, yes?"

Later, Douglas and Martin sat out on the terrace on a little table, suspiciously made up just for two, eating cheese, pate and bread while Jacques and Marianne made themselves scarce, blaming urgent vin-yard business. 

Douglas wasn't fooled - though he had to admit, the cheese and the single flute of champagne they were allowing themselves was lovely. And the view over the vin-yard was lovely, and the weather was lovely... And combined, they were nearly as lovely as the company.

With the goods packed in the jeep and an extra bag of cheese and wine for Martin Marianne had given him, they set off back to the airport and Douglas was pleased to see Martin just as keen to do the prep and the take-off as he was heading out.

They arrived back in Fitton just before dark, allowing Martin to take the landing and complete his trip, much to his excitement. 

It was dusk as Martin and Douglas unloaded the food and wine.

"So you'll make a fortune from the truffles and wine?" Martin asked as he passed the big round cheeses down from the cabin to where Douglas was standing.

"And the cheese. Jean Claude, though his real name is Terry, at the French Bistro in Fitton saves a fortune buying from me. I make enough to cover my flight to see an old friend and get some pocket money, and Jacques sells for higher than local prices. Everyone's a winner," he said, taking a box of truffles down from Martin adding it to the pile behind him. 

He turned back, reached out his arms, expecting another cheese or case of wine, when he suddenly found his arms full of Martin, who'd finished unpacking and had jumped down from the wing.

The unexpected move had caused Douglas to instinctively grasp him, and they both froze, Martin's mouth just an inch from his.

Douglas' body and mind instantly thrummed with want. The young man's breath ghosted over his mouth and focusing on nothing but the boy's lips, he found himself leaning forward.

Martin had suddenly found himself in Douglas' arms, and on any other day this would have been wonderful, but today, with the flight, the romantic lunch, the glimpse of Douglas Marianne had shared with him... it was perfection. 

He saw Douglas' eyes glance down at his lips and a moment later he was leaning in. 

He was going to be kissed for the first time in his life. Douglas was going to kiss him! His heart quickened in his chest, his eyes slide shut and then-

"Well... We'd better get this in the car before it goes completely dark," Douglas said quickly, pulling away.

Martin almost tripped forward as Douglas stepped back.

After a quiet drive back to the school, Martin broke the silence by speaking up as they got out of Douglas' rusting Lexus. 

"I've no refrigeration in the dorms and this cheese Marianne gave me might smell if I leave it overnight. I don't suppose you want to share it for supper?"

Douglas smiled, but still looked troubled. "I tell you what - come around about half eight. By that time I'll have delivered this lot and nicked some French bread from Terry."

~oOo~

When Douglas got back from his trip to Fitton with bread and made a headmistress happy with a cheese and wine delivery, he collected his post from the tray in his outer office opened the door to his rooms.

He'd make a fire before Martin arrived, he thought; Martin was bringing supper after all. 

He poured himself a whiskey and took a sip, thinking back just a few hours ago - Martin in his arms.

God he'd been tempted. He couldn't quite remember a time when he'd shown more self-restraint.

The boy was... something special. Of course he didn't get on with his peers, he had nothing in common with the obnoxious, self-interested fools.

Martin was bright, driven and gentle.

And oh, how he'd wanted to kiss the boy.

"I'd have probably scared the daylights out of him," Douglas muttered to himself, putting down his glass and turning to the post.

Car tax, car insurance, junk mail from a cruise company - as if he wasn't feeling old enough - and a buff coloured envelope, which, when he turned it over made him freeze.

He knew that handwriting.


	12. Chapter 12

At eight thirty, Martin knocked twice awkwardly with his elbow, his hands full with a bag of cheese, some butter he'd sneaked from the kitchens and the two bottles of wine Marianne had given him. 

His dorm-mates didn't have any respect for his things and regularly rooted around his belongings for anything good; which was why he kept most of his flying books and logbook in Douglas' rooms. The wine would have gone in an instant.

Martin pushed the door open. "Hi! I'm here wi- Douglas?" 

Douglas was sat in his usual chair, staring at the cold, unmade fire-grate. In his hand was not a glass, but a bottle of whiskey and on his lap was a scrunched up letter.

But most disturbing of all was Douglas' red, watery eyes.

"Douglas?" Martin asked again, putting down his bags. "What's wrong?"

Douglas took a swig from the bottle and looked over at Martin. What he saw seemed to pain him even more.

"You'd better go," Douglas said, quietly.

"No! Douglas, I'm not leaving you like this!" Martin said, coming to sit on the edge of his usual chair. "Has- Has someone died?" Martin asked, glancing down at the letter. Then he noticed the small card on the floor next to Douglas' chair and reached down for it.

It was a wedding invitation.

He looked up at Douglas.

"Remember I told you about my last husband, Henry?" Douglas asked. Martin nodded.

"Well, he's getting married to his Thai Chi teacher and thought it would be nice, now we've both moved on, for him to invite me to the wedding. Well, the reception anyway - a little too awkward to invite me for the actual ceremony, he writes..."

"God," Martin blurted. "That's a bit insensitive."

"Yes... Well, that's Henry for you," Douglas said, taking another slug of whiskey.  
"Bloody bastard. He gets to carry on with his life. Of course he's 'moved on' he'd lined the next husband up before he left me. Seven bloody months he was having an affair... And now he gets to start afresh with a younger man. Leaving me old, grumpy and alone with a crappy modern open plan flat I never sleep in and a cactus for company. I'm past it," Douglas said, punctuation his rant with another swig of whiskey.

"You've got me..."

Douglas gave a derisive snort and missed the way Martin's shoulders slumped as he got up and tried to pull the bottle of whiskey from Douglas' grasp. Douglas clung onto the bottle and gave Martin a dirty look.

"You have!" Martin protested, weakly. "You're not past it, you're... You're..." Martin bottled up the courage. "You're smart, you're good looking. Any guy would be lucky to have you!" God, it sounded clichéd even to his own young ears. And apparently it wasn't what Douglas wanted to hear.

"Would you really?" Douglas said, getting to his feet and looming over the young man.   
"Think a young thing like you'd be lucky, would you?" Douglas said with sarcasm and spite heavy in his voice.   
"Going to let me drag you to my bed? Hmmm? For all your patronising, well-meaning white lies, you wouldn't want your old, sweaty, naked physics teacher rutting over you and cursing in your ear as I fucked you, would you?"

Martin looked terrified and Douglas sobered slightly, cursing himself for his angry words and for scaring the boy. 

He'd apologize in the morning when he didn't hurt quite so god damn much. But somehow he knew this wasn't fixable.

"Get out," he said and turned back to the speechless young man. Only seconds later he heard the door close with a click.

Douglas let out a quiet sob. That daft, innocent, sweet, eager young man had turned him around this past few months, given him companionship that wasn't idiotic like Arthur's or judging like Herc's. The boy's opinion of him had given him back some of the self-respect that had been crumbling under his sarcastic facade. 

He honestly enjoyed their evening conversations and looked forward to them. More than just his attraction to the boy, he'd been pleasantly surprised by his hidden intelligence and maturity. His questions were insightful and his humour complimented his own. Martin had really turned out a be a lovely, charming, though untouchable, young man. 

Now with a few bitter twisted words caused by his bastard of an ex and he'd destroyed all that. He turned to the half-empty bottle of Talisker and brought it to his lips.


	13. Chapter 13

Martin stopped and leant on the wall next to Douglas' office.   
He'd run like a frightened rabbit! Stupid! Stupid!

He'd been thrown, shocked. Douglas had never talked to him with such anger. Other students yes. Especially Clegg in the last few months, but Douglas didn't treat him like a student any more.

Martin heard a noise from down the corridor and decided to make his way back to his dorm so he wasn't found loitering.

As he walked he thought more about how Douglas treated him. Like a friend - wholly and completely. He would have never allowed any other student to see him in such a state. He wouldn't have even allowed any other student in his rooms. He was Douglas' friend. And Douglas was his friend... His only friend.

Martin sauntered past the corridor to his dorm and continued walking around the quad as he thought.

Before he'd finished his counselling sessions, Arthur had said to him he was please Martin had found a friend, and maybe at the time he'd still thought of Douglas as more of a mentor than a friend, but not anymore.

And right now, his friend was hurt and upset. This ex-husband of his had been cruel and Douglas was rightfully angry, and because he was Douglas' friend, he'd been the one there when he'd vented that anger.

He thought about Douglas' words: 'well-meaning white-lies'. Douglas didn't have any clue how wonderful he was, how much Martin adored him.

Right now Douglas felt worthless and unloved, and God, Martin knew how that felt.

Douglas' other words span in his mind - 'You wouldn't want your old, sweaty, naked physics teacher rutting over you and cursing in your ear as I fucked you, would you?'

God, yes, he would. How often he thought about just that.

Martin stopped in the darkened corridor.

A mix of excitement, anxiety and fear swept over him as he considered a new thought.

Did he really have the nerve to do it?

"Fuck off, Hercules," came the shouted response when Martin knocked lightly on the door.

Martin tried the door knob, only to find the door locked.

He knocked again, more determined this time.

This time he heard movement and the door was ripped open, Douglas clearly ready to yell at someone. He looked surprised to see Martin and instantly deflated, leaning an arm on the wall beside the door as though he needed the support.

"Martin, I-"

"Yes," Martin blurted before he lost his nerve. "To what you said. I would do... Want that."

Douglas looked confused. "Want what?"

"You- Your bed... With you," Martin stuttered, not expecting to have to spell it out.

Douglas looked at his young friend with shock.

"I wanted you to kiss me at the airfield earlier. And I've..." Martin searched for the right word in his head - 'fancied' sounded so juvenile. "I've been attracted to you for ages and I- I want to have sex with you."

Douglas was still staring at him, now with his mouth open. This was going to go one of two ways, though most likely ending with the door being slammed in his face.

With the stubborn persistence Douglas usually teased him for, he stepped silently into the room and slowly, purposefully, under Douglas' scrutiny shut the door behind them, clicking the lock back on.

The second the latch had slipped into place, Martin found himself being pushed roughly against the wall. His hands came up automatically but before he could push, Douglas' mouth was on his.

The kiss was hard, Douglas' tongue pushing into his mouth, forcing it to open. Douglas' hands were everywhere, touching over his sides, down his thighs, gripping his arse as he kissed harder and pressed Martin bodily against the wall.

Douglas broke off the kiss and pulled back just enough to speak, and at the same time brought a hand to palm against the instant erection trapped in Martin's jeans. Martin whimpered and pushed his hips forward automatically.

"Sure you want it?" Douglas challenged, slight anger still in his voice.

Martin wrapped his arms around Douglas' neck just in case he tried to step back again like he had at the airfield. 

"Yes... Please, Douglas. Please!" Martin gasped wanting Douglas' mouth back on his. He looked up at Douglas with pleading eyes.

It hadn't been the first kiss he'd envisioned, especially with Douglas. He'd imagined them sweet and sensual, Douglas slowly teaching him how to kiss back. But this had been intense and arousing, and Martin didn't have to worry about doing his part wrong because he hadn't been given chance to kiss back.

"God," Douglas murmured, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against Martin's. His whiskey scented breath mingled with Martin's.

His mind was swirling. He had a hot, sweet, willing eighteen year old in his arms. Martin wanted him - he wasn't past it, he hadn't blown it, and he wasn't going to be alone. He was going to run his hands over Martin's young, lithe body, kiss him, suck him. God, he was going to fuck the boy and he could barely get his next words out amid his own groan.

"Bed. Now."

There was a tiny portion of Douglas' brain that was sounding alarm bells, but they were drowned out by half a bottle of whiskey and the need that coursed through every fibre of him.

Douglas kissed him again, just as hard, and started to paw at the young man's jacket, pushing it over his shoulders. As soon as the garment hit the ground, Douglas' hands were yanking up Martin's t-shirt, breaking the kiss briefly, only to pull the shirt over the boy's head to reveal the lean torso he remembered so vividly when he'd caught the boy masturbating in his bed. 

Martin had a flush of red now across his nose and cheeks, seeming to stretch down his neck and onto his hairless, freckled chest. He looked suddenly self-conscious under Douglas' hungry gaze and went to cover his nakedness with his arm.

Douglas caught hold of his wrist. "Don't cover up - you're beautiful..." Douglas said, watching as the flush on Martin's cheeks got deeper. "Fuck, I need to get you naked." 

With that, Douglas kissed him again, bringing Martin's wrist around his neck. As soon as Martin latched his arms around his shoulders, Douglas brought both his hands to Martin's arse and hoisted him upwards.

Martin made a squeal against Douglas' mouth but quickly got the idea and wrapped his legs around Douglas' hips. And despite the amount Douglas had drank, he had no problems carrying Martin's skinny form into the dimly lit bedroom and depositing him directly onto the unmade bed.

Kneeling at the bottom of the bed, Douglas made quick work of the rest of Martin's clothes as the young man lay propped on his elbows with a look of awkwardness.

Pulling off the boy's trainers and socks, Douglas crawled up Martin's body and yanked open his belt, pulling down Martin's jeans and underwear with grasping hands. 

"Fucking gorgeous," Douglas slurred and then started on his own shirt. Martin, feeling the need to help despite his own fumbling fingers, sat up as Douglas knelt on the bed and started to open the last three buttons. 

As Douglas hurriedly removed his shirt, swearing when his still buttoned cuff got stuck on his hand, Martin's hands dropped down to Douglas' trousers and paused and inch away from the belt.

The outline of Douglas' erection was pressed against his trousers and Martin stared at it, realising the reality of what they were doing. God, he'd thought about this moment so many times - touching Douglas naked, stroking him, wondering if his cock would feel the same as himself in his hand.

It certainly wasn't going to feel the same as his own - he was going to feel significantly larger, making him suddenly nervous.

Douglas, however, had no such pause for thought and pulled open his own trousers, wrapping his hand around his own cock and stroking himself a couple of times in front of Martin's face. 

"Fuck, I can't wait to have you," Douglas said, leaning forward and taking Martin in another kiss. He pushed the young man back on the bed and as Douglas groped his body, he got a chance to touch Douglas' naked chest and arms in return.

Quickly, though, Douglas' attention centred on his arse, pressing fingers between his cheeks and rubbing Martin's hole.

It was a strange, but not unwelcome sensation, and when Douglas leaned over to pull lube from his bedside drawer Martin felt a thrill of excitement mixed with apprehension.

With the next kiss came slippery fingers to the entrance to his body, and Martin couldn't help but clench and whimper into Douglas' mouth as a finger breached his body.

Martin tried his best to relax, following the instructions he'd once Googled, but the constant movement of the finger, followed by the addition of a second didn't give him chance.

He was just feeling his body begin to accept the intrusion when the fingers disappeared, and Douglas was over him again, this time positioning himself between Martin's thighs and roughly tilting his hips up by lifting his legs up.

Not knowing quite what to do with them, he wrapped them over Douglas's hips as Douglas fumbled between them and cursed.

A moment later, he felt Douglas press against his opening, the pressure building as Douglas pressed forward, laying himself over Martin and burying his face in Martin's neck, clutching him.

The resistance of his body gave way quickly and suddenly, causing Douglas' thick cock to pop into his body. Martin's stifled whimper was drowned out by Douglas' moan.

"So fucking tight," Douglas groaned and started to move.

This was it. Douglas was making love to him. He was no longer a virgin.   
He clung onto Douglas' shoulders as the older man thrust into him, the discomfort lessening by the moment as his resisting muscles grew tired and his body was forced to accept the intrusion.

After a few more minutes, and the sensation was becoming quite pleasurable, Douglas pulled out and wordlessly manhandled Martin onto his side before spooning up behind him and penetrating him for a second time.

Martin still gasped, but Douglas was wrapping his arms around him and he could feel the length of Douglas' whole body moving behind him. It felt like an intimate hug and he could feel Douglas' hot breath on his ear and hear his gasps.

A hand came down and guided his own hand to his slightly flagging erection and he understood, wrapping his hand around his own cock and stroking himself.

Behind him, Douglas' movements became faster and more erratic, and Martin's pace on his own cock matched. He was just feeling the pull of his orgasm when Douglas groaned behind him, tensed and stilled, pushing deep in his body.

"Douglas!" Martin whimpered, so close and wanting Douglas to start moving again. But Douglas didn't restart his thrusting and the arms around him started to slacken. Martin fisted himself harder, concentrating on the feel of Douglas inside him and the warmth of his body down his back.

He came a few seconds later, twitching and convulsing around his teachers softening cock.

'Wow', Martin thought as he recovered - he'd just had sex. 

Martin looked back over his shoulder, hoping for a kiss, but saw Douglas' eyes closed. 

Douglas had gone to sleep. 

This must be what he heard women complaining about on TV when they talked about men going to sleep after straight after sex... He did feel tired, too, Martin told himself, trying to ignore the small pang of rejection he felt.

Martin felt Douglas slip out of him, and feeling a little messy down there, shimmied out from Douglas' arms to visit the bathroom.

He felt a little shaky on his legs as he padded into the bathroom to get cleaned up.  
By the time he came back out, he'd begun to shiver - Douglas hadn't started a fire that night, and as usual the radiators weren't working properly.

He looked around on the floor and saw his underwear and jeans and wondered if he was expected to leave and go back to his dorm.

But with Douglas sleeping, he hoped he'd get away with staying and slipped back, naked, under the covers. He slowly pressed himself against Douglas' sleeping form so not to wake him as he cuddled up. 

Martin smiled and closed his eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

Martin woke around dawn when Douglas turned in his sleep, murmuring something intelligible and then snuffling his face into Martin's hair and throwing an arm over Martin's chest.

Martin had to squirm a little to get comfortable, but resisted the urge to go back to sleep so he could instead enjoy being in Douglas' arms.  
He tucked his face into Douglas' neck and indulged in the warm feeling of belonging he felt. 

As he lay there feeling blissfully content, he wondered how much would change. He guessed that Douglas would want them to be a secret until he graduated, but in Douglas' rooms they could touch and kiss and sleep together on the weekends when all him dorm-mates went home. 

He wondered how long was proper to wait before telling Douglas he loved him.

Douglas woke half an hour later, eyes opening slowly.

"Hi," Martin whispered, cuddling up a little more and smiling up at Douglas.

The felt the moment Douglas tensed and watched as his eyes squeezed shut.

"Fuck, no... Please, no," Douglas groaned out, his throat horse.

"D-Douglas? Wasn't it okay I stayed?" Martin asked weakly, pulling his hand back from where he'd placed it over Douglas heart. He clutched it to his own chest as a coil of fear grew quickly inside him.

Douglas slowly opened his eyes again and turned to Martin, his expression grave. 

"Tell me this didn't happen," Douglas groaned out, shaking his head. "Oh, fuck, my head hurts," he added immediately after, pressing fingers into his hairline and groaning.

"But, Douglas..." Martin whimpered. No - this couldn't be happening. 

Douglas started to sit up, still clutching his head. 

"I can't believe this... You left! I scared you off - you left!" Douglas said, his voice rising.

"But- But-"

"Fuck... You came back," Douglas said, trying to piece together the previous evening. Martin sat and edged up against the headboard, clutching the sheet to him. It made his nakedness more apparent and he saw Douglas cringe.

"The things you said... You said I was beauti-"

"I WAS DRUNK, MARTIN!" Douglas shouted, angrily. Martin flinched and let out a choked sob.

"Jesus," Douglas said, clearly trying to calm down. "I assume I-" He looked at Martin's face, wet eyes and quivering lip. He didn't want to finish that sentence. "Are you... hurt?"

"No! Douglas!" Martin said, reaching out at the man's pained expression. Douglas flinched away.

"Please, Douglas, it wasn't like that. I wanted to!"

"WELL, I DIDN'T!" Douglas shouted back, furious.

"You kissed me..." Martin said, barely above a whisper.

"I can't remember! I- Oh, god..." Douglas said, a memory flooding back. "I carried you in here - threw you on the bed and-"

Douglas stopped talking suddenly, reached for his dressing gown. He put it on and silently got up from the bed and walked to the bathroom, shutting himself in.

Martin, left sat naked in the bed, heard the sound of retching a moment later.

When Douglas came out looking grey and shaky a few minutes later, Martin was silently crying.

"Please, Douglas," Martin sobbed when Douglas eventually looked at him. "It's okay-"

"It’s not okay! You're a student. My fucking student!"

Martin shook his head in denial, face scrunched with hurt.

"I'm in a position of trust over you! A position of authority for god's sake! This is my career! Not some stupid fling for a bored teenager! I fucked up my career as a pilot and if this one, for what it's worth, gets fucked up, I will have nothing. NOTHING!"

Douglas took a deep breath and tried to calm himself before speaking again.

"Get your clothes on and get out before the rest of the school wakes up."

"Can we talk about this later then?" Martin sniffed. "When I visit this evenin-"

"NO! Don't come back tonight. Just- Just, don't come back at all!" Douglas all but shouted.

He left the room and came back a moment later with his T-shirt and jacket, throwing them on the bed. "Just leave!"

Douglas looked away as Martin pulled his jeans on quickly, conscious of the boy's sniffles. 

But this had to be done.

And for the second time in twelve hours, Martin ran from Douglas' rooms.

As soon as the door shut, Douglas sank down beside the bed and wept into his hands.


	15. Chapter 15

Douglas spent Sunday alone in his rooms, wrapped in his bathrobe and sat in front of an unlit fire. The pain of his hangover felt like punishment, but nothing near as much as he felt he deserved.

His surroundings however, assisted in making up for any missing torment.   
Sat empty in front of him was Martin's chair. Before that first evening when Martin has nervously taken a seat, all timid and anxious, it was just a second chair that had come with the room - an annoyance that made visitors stay longer.

It had quickly become Martin's place in his rooms, the same way Martin had seemed to etch out a place in his life. 

Last Sunday at this time, Martin had been there, stealing the supplements to his newspaper while he read the real news.

Magazine in hands, Martin had opted to slouch sideways over the chair, his back propped with one armrest, his legs by the other.

His ever present pilot-style jacket was hung on the back of the chair and his t-shirt had ridden up when he'd slouched down, causing a wide sliver of pale waist and back to be exposed. 

Douglas had spent an entire half hour sneaking peeks at that accidental show of skin before Martin got up to make them a cup of tea.

What a complete fool he'd been.

Looking around his room, everything seemed infused by him, like the boy was still there. 

The firewood and kindling was arranged the way Martin had stacked it, Martin's notepad and pencils sat on the mantelpiece along with half a bag of jelly babies, and Douglas new he'd left them for him because he didn't like the yellow or green ones. 

His desk - his place of work in the room, had a pile of finished marking Martin had completed. On the shelf was Martin's log book, the flight to France and those precious hours in the air still not entered. On the floor sat two bags, cheese and wine they were supposed to have eaten, right next to the wall Douglas had pushed him against.

And as for the bedroom...

It was only four pm when Douglas opened the cabinet and reached for a new bottle of Talisker. He was in a drunken sleep by eight and spent the night in his chair.

~oOo~

It took a lot of courage to step, five minutes late, into the senior year's physics class the following day. The chatter died down as soon as he stepped in, his jacket buttoned, his glasses on - doing all he could to fake his way through as a respectable teacher and hide his hangover.

He couldn't help the surge of relief when he saw Martin's chair empty, and he decided, in the boy's absence it would be easier for them both if he simply lied on the register of attendance. 

Weeks later, he was still lying.

~oOo~

He had to fix this, Martin thought, sat at the back of Mr Shipwright's English class. He hadn't written a word, despite the timed poetry assignment, and the looks he kept receiving from Mr Shipwright over his spectacles. 

How the hell could he think about poetry when his life was in ruins?

Life had gone from shit to brilliant and then for one night, amazing, and so the plummet back to shit was too much to take. 

The last few weeks had been worse than after his Dad had yelled across the dining table that he was just a dirty mistake of his mother's and to be grateful for what he was given. 

It didn't help that the abuse had started again form his classmates when they'd caught-on that he wasn't Mr. Richardson's favourite anymore, and they'd revelled in making up for lost time.

He was alone again... He'd had a friend, access to aviation - his dream, someone who actually understood him and seemed to care...and now it was all gone. 

The boys in his dorm had spread it around the school that he cried in his bed at night, so he spent most of his spare time alone in the library until late, or just wandering around the grounds avoiding everyone he could.

But more than all that, he simply missed Douglas. He wanted to be with Douglas, of course he did, but the man had been quite clear telling him not to come back.

He was in love, he realized that the night he returned to Douglas' rooms and the thought upset him.   
Would it be better for him now to not know what it was like to be with Douglas? How he smelt, how his hands felt on his naked skin? Martin wouldn't swap the memory for the world, despite the spike of hurt he felt when he inevitably re-lived Douglas' rejection. 

He hadn't been good enough for Douglas, and he looked back now on his idealistic thoughts as he'd lain by his side that morning as stupid and idiotic. Why on earth would a man like that have wanted a stupid, ugly kid like him?

There was one hope, something that kept him going. He'd played it out hundreds of times in mind. That he could catch Douglas at a quiet moment, he'd apologize, ask him if they could go back to how they were, forget it happened. 

He could live with pretending that the most perfect night of his life hadn't happened, but he couldn't live without Douglas. 

He needed to sneak out after last class.

After dark, Martin clutched his peace offering to his chest, wrapped in a Tesco carrier bag - he certainly didn't want to be seen in the hallways with a bottle of 25 year old Talisker.

He frowned as he approached Douglas' outer office door, finding it slightly ajar and slowed his pace. If someone else was in there Douglas wouldn't be in a good mood, he hated visitors after hours except... well, now including himself.

"But Douglas! Martin's ever so sad and his other studies have suddenly got worse and its mock-exam time soon. Mum says if he keeps up like he has this last few weeks his father will want him to do the year again!"

It was the keening voice of the school counsellor he could hear and Martin stopped dead in the dark corridor.

"Well, perhaps his bloody father should take some responsibility for the boy!" Martin heard Douglas snap back. "Martin Crieff is not my responsibility! And you can tell your bloody mother that, too!"

"But Douglas! He came on so well while he was with you and now I'm worried about him. What happened to chang-"

"Arthur," Douglas interrupted in a very dangerous voice. "I never want to set eyes on that kid again, and I strongly, STRONGLY, recommend to your mother that somehow she ensures he graduates this year... I don't want him back."

Martin stood frozen in the hallway, his fingers tight around the gift he'd bought with his meagre savings. He felt numb and hollow inside, like his heart had made its way up to his throat, leaving nothingness in his chest. Nothingness hurt.

Douglas didn't want him... He didn't even want to look at him. 

And why would he? came the dark, resurgent voice from the back of his mind.

It was true, Martin realized. Why would Douglas want him when no one wanted him? His father hated him, his mother wished he just not happened, he didn't have friends, any friends... Not even Douglas. 

What was the point trying so hard when everything hurt so much?

He stood alone in the dark wondering what to do. The boys would be back in the dorm and he didn't want to see anyone and the library would still be too busy. He needed somewhere quiet - he felt the need to hide and cry.

The lump in his throat welled up. He didn't want to be found crying in the hallway like a pathetic kid. 

The chapel... No one would be using the chapel.

~oOo~

Martin quietly slumped down in front of the first pew and tugged his thin blue jacket around him against the cold of the unheated chapel. 

Maybe he could sleep here. If he was asleep he would stop thinking - if he wasn't thinking he couldn't feel so sad, yet how was he going to-

Martin suddenly realised the bottle was still in his hand. His gift to Douglas. But Douglas didn't want it, or him. 

Douglas said he drank to stop from hurting, maybe it would work for him, too.


	16. Chapter 16

"I can't find Martin, Douglas..." Arthur said, pushing open the door to his private rooms without invitation. "I went to see him to ask him to restart his sessions, but he's vanished!"

"And this concerns me, how?" Douglas asked, staring at the fire, tumbler in hand, hoping the school counsellor would turn around and simply go away. This was the second time tonight Arthur had come to annoy him.

"It concerns you, Richardson, because Carolyn's bothered, and when Carolyn is bothered, I get bothered," Herc said, striding into his rooms behind Arthur.

"Oh, for fucks sake," Douglas muttered, stress and tiredness in his voice. "Have you checked his dorm?" Douglas glanced at his newest intruder, surprised to see worry on his face too. They lost kids to the local pub, shops and pizza place three times a week, how was this any different?

"Of, course we've checked his dorm!" Carolyn said, storming through the door behind them a moment later. 

"I figured you'd check here next, Hercules," she said. Herc simply nodded and glanced at Douglas uncomfortably.

Arthur carried on, regardless of the further interruption. 

"I'm worried Douglas. As the School Counsellor, I have to say there are 'warning signs'." Arthur punctuated the phrase with little air speech-marks, making Douglas look even more stressed and irritated, and Hercules even more uncomfortable. 

"Warning signs, Arthur? You wouldn't spot a warning sign if it was held aloft in day-glo yellow."

"He's not been attending your lessons, has he?" Hercules asked, directly to Douglas. There was surprise in his voice.

"What? Why didn't you tell me! Haven't you seen the state he's in?" Carolyn chastised. "He's pale, withdrawn and losing much needed weight. He needs you, Douglas. He trusts you and whatever has happened at home he needs a mentor right now -"

"Oh, bloody hell, Carolyn, isn't it fucking obvious what's happened?" Douglas roared, smashing his glass down on his side table and pressing his fingers into his hair. 

A long silence followed. 

"What do you mean, exactly, Douglas?" Carolyn eventually asked, low and dangerous.

"Fucking hell," Hercules said, turning away from the group.

It was odd to hear Hercules swear, the words seemed so uncouth from his mouth, and both Carolyn and Arthur turned in surprise.

"Douglas?" Carolyn asked again.

"Oh, Carolyn!" Douglas spat with annoyance. "Arthur's stupid enough, but not you, and certainly not Herc. You just don't want to admit you know."

"Oh, God, Douglas," she said putting the back of her hand to her mouth. "Tell me you didn't... Tell me you didn't-"

"Fuck him? Take the boy's virginity? Why, yes I did, now you mention it!" Douglas spat, angry again. 

Everything - everything had gone wrong since that night and this was the point where everything he was clinging desperately to crumbled to the ground.

"He wanted to, though... Right, Douglas?" Arthur asked in a timid voice.

Douglas' head shot around. He honestly hadn't thought he could get any angrier - apparently he hadn't banked on Arthur.

"Of course He did! I'm not a bloody rapist! He wanted it, he knocked on that bloody door and asked me to!"

"And you were drunk," Carolyn finished for him.

Douglas reached for his glass again and swilled the amber liquid around, staring at it. 

"He stayed the night. I came to my senses in the morning and threw him out. I've not seen him since... he doesn't come to my classes."

"Oh, I was getting really worried everything wasn't going to be alright for a moment there," Arthur said in relief. The three of them looked at him with a varying mixture of puzzlement, annoyance and despair.

"Arthur, everything will not be okay-" Carolyn groaned.

"But it will, they just need to make up! Martin is hurt and rejected, and Douglas is confused and just a bit stupid - once they're back together everything will be okay."

"Arthur, I abused a boy under my care... That's not okay in any body's book," Douglas admitted.

"But, he's-"

"He's eighteen," Hercules finished for Arthur. "He's a man in his own right, and if he was just your student, I'd still have a real issue, but he was your friend, too, wasn't he? Your relationship has gone far past that of purely teacher and student."

"He was lonely and you were lonely, you both liked physics, you both liked flying..." Arthur put in.

"And he did rather mellow you, old man," Herc added, receiving a surprised glance from Carolyn.

"Are you saying I should condone a relationship between one of my teachers and a student?" Carolyn exclaimed as Douglas looked on.

"No, Carolyn," Herc said softly. "I'm saying you should recognise there's clearly more harm preventing it than there is turning a blind-eye."

"I'm presuming you have feelings for the young man, Douglas?" Herc asked, turning to him.

"Yes," Douglas admitted quietly, his shoulder slumping in defeat. 

God help him, he did.

Carolyn shook her head and Douglas couldn't tell if it was in disagreement or defeat.

"Let's just get the boy found and then... Well, let's just get him found," Carolyn said.

~oOo~

It took another two hours to find Martin Crieff and it was Douglas who discovered him, recalling the boy's comment about the chapel never getting used.

"Martin?" he called out, entering the chapel. It was bitterly cold in there and he was just about to turn back when he saw the corner of a cuff, adorned with the silly bright yellow stripes the boy loved so much.

"MARTIN!"

Douglas rushed to the young man's side, sinking to his knees as he cornered the front pew and saw Martin's slumped pale body and the half empty bottle of whiskey by his side. 

"God, Martin!" he said tipping Martin's chin up and seeing the trickle of vomit from the corner of his mouth.

Douglas' fingers pressed against Martin's neck in an instant. His relief at finding a pulse was marred when he held his ear to Martin's mouth to hear very shallow breath. 

He pulled the boy gently down into the recovery position and pulled put his phone, dialling 999 with shaking hands. 

"I need an ambulance, a fucking ambulance, right now. St Gertrude's Boarding School!"


	17. Chapter 17

The machine wasn't breathing for him, but the sound it made, pumping extra oxygen direct to his lungs through the tube that kept his airways clear, seemed to fill the quiet hospital room.

Herc had taken a fretful Arthur to see if they could find some coffee anywhere in the hospital, but Carolyn and Douglas had stayed by the bedside. Carolyn half dozed, but Douglas stayed awake, watching the steady rise and fall of Martin's chest.

Martin woke around one thirty AM when the nurse slipped into the treatment room to change Martin's IV drip. His eyes opening slowly.

"Nurse," Douglas said quietly, bringing her attention to Martin's flickering eyelids.

A moment later Martin's eyes were wide and panicked. He began choking from the tube in his airway and the nurse immediately began removing it, telling him to relax. Douglas was by his side in an instant, soothing him and placing a hand in his hair as the nurse slid out the tube and let Martin have a recovering gasp and cough.

The nurse took out a light and started shining it into Martin's eyes, so Douglas stood back as to not hamper her work.

She asked Martin a few questions, his name, the day, if he knew how he'd got here. 

He coughed and mumbled the answers, a little confused as to how he was here, but that was understandable.

"You got alcohol poisoning. Fortunately for you, it looks like your teacher found you in time to avoid any long term damage," the nurse explained, motioning to Douglas. "You have a rehydration drip that should be finished within the hour and we'll just monitor your oxygen saturation levels for a little while, okay?"

She turned to Carolyn who hovering at her shoulder, the woman's rarely seen motherly instincts on show.   
"I'll notify the doctor to come and double check him, but he looks like he'll be fine."

Carolyn nodded her thanks and the nurse left, clearly expecting the young man to get few stern words. 

Carolyn filled a small cup of water and handed it to her student. 

"Mr, Crieff. Drinking on school grounds is an expellable charge. But as Arthur enjoyed the ride in the ambulance I'm feeling generous. You may recover under Mr. Richardson's direct supervision, which will mean studying away from class."

Martin started shaking his head, the hand around the small cup trembling.

"Herc- Mr. Shipwright, will take over physics classes for a week, god knows what effect that will have on gravity and the theory of relativity, but maybe you can assist Mr. Richardson catch up on more of his marking."

"No..." Martin managed with a croaky throat, not able to look directly at the headmistress, and certainly not at Douglas. "I'm fine, I-"

"Martin-" Douglas said softly, reaching out.

Martin flinched as his physics teacher touched his arm and Douglas paused, glancing at Carolyn.

"Mr Crieff, you can either recover in Mr Richardson's rooms or I can phone your father and your parents a can pick you up."

Martin choked out a sob and Carolyn's pretence fell.

"Douglas, get out," she said not taking her eyes off the upset young man.

"Carolyn-" Douglas tried, looking between her and Martin. Martin still hadn't looked him in the eye.

"OUT! NOW!" Carolyn barked.

Douglas nodded and quietly left the room. Carolyn waited for the click of the door closing before she spoke.

"Martin, dear boy. I know... I know what happened - I know he had sex with you and I need to know, honestly, did he force you?"

Martin looked up, shock on his reddening face. "NO!" he exclaimed.

"Did he coerce you in any way?"

"No! No! He didn't, I wanted to, and he'd been drinking so if anything I coerced him," Martin said sniffing.

"You're eighteen Martin, so it was your decision, but he did still have a position of trust and authority over you..."

Martin thought about all the arguments over protocol and regulations they'd had; he'd stood up to Douglas in every single one. He thought about his determination on that very first day's flight, refusing to fly without that rivet being checked.

"Not really, I mean he was still my teacher in class, and he was teaching me flying, but more than that we're friends, too... Were, I mean."

Carolyn considered Martin's words for a moment. The young man seemed so hurt and vulnerable, and despite the utter twerp Douglas had been, her old friend was in a complete state over the boy since he'd found him unconscious. Perhaps her daft son had a point.

"So what's it to be?" she asked again. "A week with Douglas to watch over you, or do I call your father?"

Tears sprung from Martin's eyes and he shook his head. "Please," he begged. "Please don't make me choose between the two people who want me the least."

Carolyn's breath caught as tears rolled down the poor boys cheeks. She swiped at a tear that had appeared on her own face and got to her feet. Without speaking she walked to the door and addressed Douglas who was waiting anxiously outside. 

He approached her as soon as she came out.

"Fix this, Douglas. Do whatever you need to do to fix this. I don't care if you run off to Gretna Green with the boy, just... Make. It. Better.   
"My eyes are blind until he graduates and then I shall congratulate you on not being a complete bastard... And let him know I won't inform his parents - a condescending step-father is the last thing that boy needs right now."

Douglas nodded. He knew very well how much it took to make Carolyn emotional and he was itching to get back into the room.

Martin didn't look at Douglas as he came in, or even when he sat down. He did however flinch again slightly when Douglas took his hand.

"Martin, I think we need to talk. Not now, not yet, but come back with me? Please?"

"But you never want to set eyes on me again..." Martin murmured, still staring at the far wall. 

Douglas recognised his own words, ones he'd spoken just a few hours earlier.  
He squeezed his eyes closed and tightened his grip as Martin tried to pull his hand away.

"You're coming back with me," Douglas said firmly. His tone brokered no argument.

Three hours later Martin was released from hospital. He fell asleep in the back of Herc's car, his slim form wedged between Douglas and Arthur.


	18. Chapter 18

Martin awoke several hours later in Douglas' bed with a sore head and a dry mouth. His whole being seemed to ache and he felt his body's need for more sleep.

He groaned and twisted in his sheets, eyes still closed, trying to find a more comfortable position and wondering why his pillow seemed so soft all of a sudden.

It was no good though, there was no going back to sleep without his glass of water. He reached out blindly to his bedside cabinet and found nothing. 

Where was his glass? Why couldn't he remember if he filled it? Why did his head hurt?

Martin's skin felt tight on his arm and he blearily opened his eyes. He paused, arms still outstretched as he saw the cotton ball, held down by sticking plaster where they had in inserted a needle. 

A needle... a drip... the hospital.

Sudden realization answered every question.

He turned slowly. Daylight crept in from around the closed curtains but it was more than enough to make out the room. He'd been in this room before... In this bed before. His gaze stilled on Douglas.

His teacher was jammed uncomfortably into one of the wing-back chairs that had obviously been dragged to the bedside. The man's eyes were closed, but as Martin pulled himself up into a sitting position, Douglas seemed to sense his movement and roused, pushing off the blanket he'd had over his shoulders.

"Martin?" 

Martin stilled as Douglas uncurled from his position with a wince of pain. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and gave Martin a quiet, searching look.

Martin didn't know what Douglas meant by it. He looked grave and tired

"How do you feel?" Douglas asked eventually.

"I'm fine," Martin said automatically, pulling the sheets up around his bare chest. "I can go back to my dorm and-"

"For God's sake shut up, Martin," Douglas snapped. Seeing Martin's face pale further, he sighed and rubbed his hand across his face. "Sorry... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout. "I- I- Look, let me just get you some water, Paracetamol and something to eat, okay?"

When Douglas returned to the bedroom he carried a tray baring sandwiches wrapped in cling-film, a glass and a large jug of water.

"Here, some Paracetamol and some of this to help you re-hydrate," Douglas said pouring out a sachet of powder into the glass and mixing some water in. "I swear by it."

Martin accepted the glass wordlessly and drank it down, swallowing the tablets and wincing from the combined taste.

"Serves yourself right for drinking all that bloody whiskey," Douglas commented. "Now eat something. I'll get Arthur to bring you round a proper meal in a little while"

He picked up half a cheese sandwich and nibbled at the corner of it as Douglas sat on the edge of the bed watching him.

"Where did you get all that whiskey, anyway?" Douglas asked.

The bread felt dry in his mouth. 

"It's stupid..." Martin trailed off, not wanting to answer.

Douglas just looked at Martin expectantly, forcing him to continue.

"It was supposed to be for you. I went to Tesco. I was bringing it as an apology," Martin said, quietly.

"Oh, Martin. You had nothing to be sorry for!"

Martin shook his head and looked away.

"Back at the hospital... You said I never wanted to set eyes on you again... You heard Arthur and I talking, I take it?" 

Martin played with the crust of his sandwich between his finger, and gave a minute nod.

"That's why you drank?"

Martin gave another little nod. "I wasn't trying to end up in hospital or anything, it was just cold and I just wanted to stop thinking for a while. I missed you and I... hurt, and you said whiskey helped when stuff hurts."

Douglas rubbed his hands over his eyes. He had said that, hadn’t he.

"I missed you too," Douglas said quietly. "I honestly didn't realize how much you'd burrowed yourself into my life," Douglas said reaching out. 

Martin let him slide his fingers between his own and Martin squeezed in response. It felt a little bit like forgiveness.

"Whatever happens between us, I want you to know we'll stay friends. All those things I said and you heard were me reacting like a complete idiot. I was confused and scared. You're so young, Martin..." Douglas said, still struggling with his own feelings. 

Part of him was telling him he should only ever be a friend and mentor to this boy, the rest of him wanted to crawl under those blankets and hold the vulnerable young man in his arms.

"Why don't you have a little more sleep and I'll update that logbook of yours ready for next weekend, humm?" 

Martin smiled and Douglas released his hand and got up.

"I'm sorry for causing you all this hassle. The headmistress knowing, that night, the hospital... everything," Martin said as Douglas turned to the door.

"Are you kidding?" Douglas looked back with a smile. "You got me a paid week off from teaching the little hoodlums. Next Saturday, I'm sending you to the kitchens with a bottle of Vodka so I can keep you here for second week."

A little smile appeared on Martin's face.

"Now finish that sandwich and water and get some more sleep."

~oOo~

"Martin! Hot food!" Douglas called from the living room, waking him a couple of hours later. 

A pile of his clothes and personal items had appeared by the side of the bed while he'd been sleeping, and Martin briefly wondered what his dorm mates had made of a teacher coming to retrieve his things. He doubted any rumour they could come up with would pale in comparison with the truth.

Martin slid on his pyjama bottom which sat on top of the pile and slipped on a clean t-shirt.

He padded out into the living room to find Douglas dishing out chicken and vegetable pie from one of the kitchen serving dishes.

"How do you feel?" Douglas asked, adding a disturbing amount of vegetables from another bowl.

"Good," Martin answered. "Just a little bit thirsty. The headache's gone though."

"Ah, the resilience of youth," Douglas said, handing him the plate and pouring him another glass of water. 

"Thanks," he said, grabbing a fork off the tray and padding over to his chair. He climbed on and tucked his feet beneath him to keep them warm, and dug into his pie with his fork, suddenly hungry at the smell of food.

With his own plate full, Douglas turned and paused, seeing Martin tucking in happily to his food.

Martin sensed the pause and looked up, halting mid chew. He swallowed, suddenly a little worried.

"What's wrong! What did I do?"

Douglas relaxed and smiled. "Nothing. It's just- Well, it's just nice to see you back in that chair."

After dinner, Martin collected Douglas plate from him, placed it back on the tray and wandered over to the bookshelf, moving a few things around until he found what he was looking for.

Douglas watched perplexed from his chair until Martin turned back around holding a bag of jelly babies.

"You stashed jelly babies here?" Douglas laughed.

"Couldn't keep them in the dorm - they'd get nicked. Don't worry, I'll save you the green and yellow ones."

He opened the packet and popped a red one in his mouth before stopping at Douglas' chair and offering out the bag.

"Come here," Douglas said, voice suddenly rough, ignoring the offered bag and holding out his arms.

Martin went to him immediately and Douglas pulled him down onto his lap, holding him tightly and letting out a long held sigh of relief.

"I can hug you back?" Martin asked, hopefully.

"Oh, Martin," Douglas responded, wrapping his arms further around him. Martin took this as permission and slid his arms around Douglas' sides, tucking his head into the crook of neck and snuggling in close, jelly babies forgotten.

They spend a long while holding each other, Martin a comfortable, reassuring weight on Douglas' lap.

"We've done this before, you know," Martin said quietly as Douglas began the slow, soothing rub of his thumb across the base of his spine. 

"The trip home from the pub," Douglas answered, the soft rumble of his voice making Martin snuggle closer.

"I never wanted to reach the school," Martin murmured.

"It took a concerted effort let go of you when it was time to get out. I never thought I'd be grateful for Arthurs awful sense of direction."

Martin laughed softly against his neck. It felt wonderful.

"Martin, I've been terrible to you. I hurt you unforgivably. By all rights you should hate me and be getting me fired, perhaps even arrested, and yet-"

"No!" Martin exclaimed, looking up into Douglas' deep brown, concerned eyes.

"I was me who offered, and I know I should, but I can't make myself regret it," Martin admitted.

"I must have been very drunk... Did I- Did I hurt you?"

"No, no! It was a little uncomfortable at first, but I was a bit tense, that's all... I enjoyed it, a lot," he said blushing.

"Somehow I doubt that," Douglas responded, clearly not believing the young man. He'd taken the boy's virginity roughly and carelessly, and guilt thrummed through him.

"I did, you know..." Martin said going even redder, "come."

"Well, at least I didn't fall asleep during the act... Ahh..." Douglas amended, seeing Martin bite his lip. 

"I'm so sorry, Martin, it must have been terrible for you to have your first time spoiled by a drunken brute."

Martin shook his head again.

"Martin, there's no way I managed anything resembling foreplay in that state and it was your first time... Then to fall asleep before the end."

"It was wonderful," Martin defended.

"You don't actually have any frame of reference though, Martin," Douglas pointed out with a sombre expression. He looked away from Martin, guilt at ruining the boy's first sexual experience making him unable to look the young man in the eye.

"Well give me one, then!" Martin exclaimed, frustrated. Why couldn't Douglas see that he had enjoyed that night, wanted it. And wanted it again?

Douglas' eyes shot up to Martin's and his lips twitched. "Nice double entendre." 

Martin grinned. "Luckily, I meant it both ways,"

"I'm more than old enough to be your father, Martin. Jesus, I'm just about old enough to be your grandfather!"

"But you're not, and I don't care."

"Other people will care," Douglas responded softly.

"Since when did you start caring about what other people think about you?"

"I don't. But I care what they think about you."

"I only care what you think about me... And maybe the CAA examiner, but he really shouldn't be bothered who I'm in love with."

"Love?" Douglas asked, searching Martin's face.

Martin flushed bright red and looked away, only for Douglas to catch his face in his hand and gently turn him back so he could look into Martin's eyes.

"Love?" he asked again, softly. 

Martin swallowed and looked like he was about to cry again. Then he swallowed and steeled himself as Douglas had seen him do so many times. 

"Yes..."

"I don't deserve you, and I certainly don't deserve your forgiveness."

"Do you want me?" Martin asked. Douglas could see the vulnerability in Martin's eyes as he asked the question.

"As silly an old fool as it make me, I do love you, Martin. I'm not sure what sort of future we could have together, but you deserve to know how I feel about you." 

Douglas saw Martin's lip wobble and a moment later a tear fall down the boy's cheek.

"Kiss me," Martin asked in a whisper, and for the first time, Douglas could see no reason to hold back.

Martin braced himself a little as Douglas leaned forward, expecting the forceful, aggressive kiss from last time. He closed his own eyes and held still, ready to try and kiss back a little more this time.

Instead he felt a gentle hand on his jaw, fingers slowly stroking his wet cheek and the soft touch of fingertips over his lips.

Martin opened his eyes a little confused. Had Douglas reconsidered?

But Douglas was close, eyes soft, focusing on his mouth and the trail of his fingertip across his bottom lip. 

Douglas seemed mesmerized and Martin's heart beat a little faster. He flushed under the scrutiny, feeling his cheeks go red and in an unintentional nervous reaction, he tried to lick his lips, catching the end of Douglas' fingertip as he did.

His teacher's dark brown eyes flicked to his, the action pulling his focus from his lips and he smiled softly as his hand took a better, yet still gentle, hold on Martin's jaw.

Martin only remembered to close his eyes at the last moment as Douglas pressed his lips ever so gently against his. 

Having expected the forceful press of Douglas' mouth, he was surprised by the gentle nudge of Douglas' lips, coaxing Martin slowly into response.

Having never kissed like this, Martin tensed, gripping the front of Douglas' shirt unintentionally.   
Not knowing how to move his mouth, nothing he seemed to do felt right. He tried opening and closing his mouth a little but the timing was all wrong, then he tried holding his lips still, and he realized Douglas was stopping, pulling back.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

"Yes. Yes, I- I just- Sorry... I've never kissed anyone but you and it was so different last time, I'm not too sure what to do..." Martin admitted, hoping he wasn't putting Douglas off.

Douglas' heart swelled at Martin's words - Martin, his Martin had never kissed anyone other than him. He could help feeling protective, pulling Martin closer, truly understanding what a precious gift Martin was. A spike of guilt also shot through him at the thought of how carelessly he'd kissed the young man the first time.

Well, he was going to make up for that now.

"Just relax, Darling," Douglas said softly, leaning back in. "You've nothing to worry about. If you trust me to teach you to fly, let me teach you this too."

Warmth and softness pressed against his mouth again and Martin's eyes drifted shut as he enjoyed the warmth the term of endearment had infused in him.

Douglas loved him. Douglas loved him and would teach him everything he needed. He relaxed against Douglas' body and let himself enjoy the kiss, moving willingly when Douglas gently tilted his head so that their mouths slid together more easily.

He found his hands sliding up Douglas' body without thought, slipping into Douglas' soft, floppy hair. It felt wonderful beneath his fingers and he twisted a little in Douglas' lap, making the older man groan into his mouth.

He found himself kissing Douglas back easily now, the urge to mimic Douglas' movements seeming natural and learning from him as they kissed.

Douglas' kiss started to slowly change - long slow kisses turning to gentle, soft nips of his mouth by Douglas' lips. When he felt Douglas' tongue brush against his bottom lip, he moaned. 

This kiss seemed eternally slower than his first, Douglas' tongue teasing and licking rather than invading as it had done that night. He found the effect rather more arousing as well, his already fully hard erection pressing uncomfortably against the front of his jeans.

Douglas ground up against him as the kiss continued and Martin couldn't help but whimper.

Douglas broke the kiss but didn't pull away very far, leaving them panting across each other's mouths.

Martin saw Douglas glance down between them.

"I'm in a similar state... Perhaps we should slow down," Douglas suggested. But from the way his eyes drifted back to Martin's lips it wasn't an idea he was keen on. Neither was Martin.

"Or we could..." Martin glanced to the bedroom door.

Douglas groaned and rested his head against Martin's. "You were in hospital just last night," Douglas protested weakly.

"I'm fine. Not even thirsty anymore... We could just kiss on the bed - be more comfortable."

"Martin," Douglas moaned again, closing his eyes. "If I take you to that bed, I won't be able to stop at just kissing you."

"Then take me to bed," Martin pleaded. "Teach me everything."

"Will you stay with me?" Douglas asked suddenly, opening his eyes and pulling back again. "End of school year is just around the corner... When you leave school, will you move in with me? I've got a flat, an investment property more than anything, it's not much, but-"

"YES! Really? Yes!" Martin blurted. 

"But don't you want further education? You're young... Don't you want to go off to uni?" Douglas asked, torn between wanting the best for Martin and a relationship with the young man.

"I want flight school, and I can't get flight school without money and I won't get money without a job! I've planned to work and save and pay my way through flight school. Sharing a flat with you would half my costs and get me flying sooner. And- And there's a flight school about thirty minutes drive away... One of the cheapest, I could go there! It's perfect!" Martin said excitedly, all without a breath.

"Oh, Martin!" Douglas said, kissing him happily.

"Does this mean you're my boyfriend, now?" Martin asked, wriggling with happiness on Douglas' lap.

"I think I'm a little too old to be considered anyone's boyfriend. Partner? Lover?" he said with a grin.

"Not unless you take me to that bedroom!" 

"Is that right?" Douglas said with a smile as Martin clambered off his lap and held out his hand.

All sign of Martin's worry and anxiety from that morning were gone, leaving only the bright look of enthusiasm on his face. 

Douglas got up and slipped his hand into Martin's, who grinned and immediately turned, tugging a laughing Douglas into the bedroom.


	19. Chapter 19

Martin's confidence faltered as soon as he got into the bedroom and turned, realizing he was about to have sex with another man and despite having done it once, didn't know quite how to start.

Clothes. Clothes were a good start.

His hands shot to Douglas' shirt, quickly trying to undo the awkward little buttons.

"Hey... Slow down. No need to rush," Douglas said, bringing his hands over Martin's.

"I err- Sorry, sorry," Martin said quickly, flushing.

Keeping their hands joined, he nudged Martin's face up with his nose before kissing him gently. "Nothing to be sorry about... Let’s just take our time - we've got all day, all week."

Martin liked the sound of that.

"I'll slow down..." Martin said, smiling and taking his hands off Douglas' shirt-buttons and smoothing them over Douglas' broad chest. 

"Think of it as a walk around - you take ages with those."

"Hey!" Martin complained, making Douglas laugh.

"I want to make sure I've inspected every little bit of you," Douglas continued, backing Martin slowly to the bed. "Thoroughly check any raised rivets," he added with a sly grin, slipping his hand up Martin's T-shirt and skimming an index finger over a nipple. 

The way Martin shuddered under his fingertips gave Douglas a thrill. Martin seemed extremely sensitive and the knowledge that he was the first to make Martin feel this way was heady. Apart from one rough, sadly lacking experience, Martin was innocent.

That really shouldn't have been as much of a turn-on as it was.

And if one brief touch could make Martin shiver like that, he'd make sure Martin would be moaning his name in no time.

The back of Martin's legs hit the bottom of the bed, and Douglas resisted the urge to immediately press him down on it. Instead, he kissed him again, pulling Martin's t-shirt up, only breaking the kiss when he needed to pull it over the boy's head.

"Look at you... Beautiful," Douglas murmured, reaching for his own shirt buttons. Martin went pink with embarrassment again and clambered onto the bed, kneeling there in his just his pyjama bottoms and watching as Douglas dropped his shirt to the floor.

Martin seemed shy at the compliment, cheeks reddening by the moment.   
"I told you that last time, didn't I?" Douglas asked, kneeling on the bed and approaching his young lover. 

Martin flushed even brighter and dipped his head. Douglas caught his jaw as he looked down, gently forcing Martin to look him in the eye. 

"Drunks tell the truth, they say... You are beautiful, and you're just going to have to get used to me saying it."

Martin was now blushing furiously which Douglas responded to with a mix of amusement, arousal and protectiveness. The young man bit his lip and Douglas couldn't help but kiss it, dragging Martin onto his lap as a the kiss deepened. 

 

Douglas hands roamed Martin's exposed chest, paying particular attention to Martin's peaked, rosy nipples, making the boy squirm deliciously in his lap.

When Martin's arms came around his neck and shoulders, Douglas took the opportunity to tip Martin down onto his back so they could both stretch out their legs. 

Martin had been quite right - kissing him in this position was glorious, especially when the young man would press a very interested cock, rhythmically against his hip. 

As Douglas slipped his mouth to Martin's neck, his hand trailed it's way to Martin's groin. He heard Martin's gasp as his palm slide up over the flannelette covered erection and Douglas fancied he could feel the flutter of Martin's heartbeat against his lips.

He began stroking him slowly, through his pyjamas while kissing down his throat and over to Martin's shoulder, kissing and licking the freckles that sat prominently there.

Soon he was kissing down over Martin's chest as the boy writhed under him, licking against those sensitive nipples and getting his first audible moan.

Marvelling at Martin's small waist and lean stomach, Douglas kissed and caressed down to his navel, twisting his tongue inside and making Martin giggle. One important lesson he needed to teach Martin was that sex should rarely be serious - this however, was one of those times.

He hooked fingers into the waist of Martin's pyjama bottoms and tugged, pleased when Martin eagerly lifted his hips to help as Douglas slid them down his legs and dropped them off the edge of the bed.

Martin suddenly became coy again now he was entirely naked. His hands straying to cover his erection, but Douglas caught his hand. Martin was stunning - pale, smooth, lean and his cock stood out proudly from his body, deep pink in contrast to his other skin and nestled in a base of ginger curls the boy, no doubt, hated.

Martin gasped in shock as Douglas leant down and licked a broad stripe up the side of his cock.

"Delicious," Douglas commented, feeling Martin squeeze his hand tightly. "May I continue?" Douglas asked looking up, mouth still inches from his cock..

Martin looked down, the image doing to the boy everything he'd hoped.

"Oh, God, yeah, but don't you want to... I mean- proper sex..." Martin spluttered.

"This is proper sex Martin," Douglas cooed, rubbing Martin's erection against his cheek.

"But, I mean with you on top," Martin gasped, closing his eyes against the sensation. Douglas suspected a bit of a hair-trigger. Something to be expected on an inexperienced eighteen year old, he reasoned.

"A benefit of being eighteen, Martin, is that your refractory period is probably faster than the time it takes to make a cup of tea, which means, I can show you the delights of oral sex and we can also have 'proper' sex, with you on top, me on top - any way you want to try it."

Martin's eyes popped back open.

"Oh, wow... Brilliant. But I never really thought about me on top..."

"And you think about me on top of you often?" Douglas asked with a smirk, teasing Martin a little by letting his warm breath ghost over his erection.

"Constantly," Martin admitted, now looking slightly strained and very hopefully between his own cock and Douglas' mouth.

"A natural bottom... Someone up there likes me tremendously," Douglas said smugly.

Martin made a little whine that sounded remarkably like his name.

Taking that as a sign he'd teased his young lover enough, Douglas turned his attention back his task, mouthing kisses from the base to the head before swirling his tongue over the top and taking Martin deeply into his mouth.

"Oh God!... Oh God, ohhhh!" Martin gasped, releasing Douglas' hand and clutching desperately at the bed sheets. 

Douglas knew he was particularly good at this, he'd been informed quite reliably. And knowing Martin was inexperienced in such areas only made Douglas try harder, wanting to make the boy's first blow-job utterly spectacular. 

Douglas wanted the experience seared into his memory, insurmountable...   
He wanted Martin to never bother looking at another man, knowing Douglas would give him all the pleasure he could possibly, ever need.

To that end, he brought his hands into play. One rhythmically pumping him as he sucked, the other stroking up his thighs and then slowly, as Martin began to whimper again, to stroke over his perineum.

"Oh, oh!" Martin panted and Douglas could tell he was on the edge of orgasm by the way he squirmed and the precome flooding over his tongue.

In response he lessened the speed of his stroke and pressure of his mouth, causing his student to whimper even more and grasp at Douglas' head, the boy's fingers sinking into his hair in a blind attempt to increase the intensity again.

Instead, Douglas built back up slowly, this time slipping his fingers down to stroke over Martin's hole. With the first tease to the puckered entrance, Douglas was gratified when Martin opened his legs further and lost any residual control of his body, wantonly pushing up into Douglas' mouth and squirming back onto the finger in turn.

Martin came after a few more seconds and with a ripped, unintelligible cry that Douglas swore began with a 'D'. As Martin stiffened in release, he gripped Douglas' hair tightly and flooded Douglas' mouth.

When the last tremor of climax died away, Martin slumped, all his muscles relaxing at once and Douglas let him slide from his mouth and took the opportunity to slip out of the rest of his clothes.

Douglas came to lie naked beside him, sporting both a large erection and a smug grin.

"I trust that was passable?" Douglas commented lightly.

"Wow..." Martin murmured, still relaxed and sleepy as Douglas stroked down his body. "Can I do that for you... Or at least try?"

"As delightful as that sounds, unless you want to skip the 'proper sex' we'd better leave that for next time. To use an analogy, if you're refractory period is brewing a cup of tea, mine is brewing beer..."

"I definitely want the sex," Martin said with a lazy smile, reaching out tentatively to Douglas' cock, pressing his palm against the length. Douglas hummed appreciatively. 

In response, Douglas ran his hand from Martin's neck, down his chest and stomach and down to his groin, watching Martin stretch like a cat as he did.

"Did you even go soft?" Douglas asked with a laugh as he trailed fingers around his lower abdomen.

"Not with you touching me," Martin answered, opening his legs further in clear communication of what he wanted.

Smiling, Douglas leaned over to the bedside cabinet and pulled out the lube he'd used last timed. 

"I have condoms in here somewhere," Douglas said, scrabbling through the drawer's items.

"Do we need them? We didn't last time," Martin pointed out.

"I didn't offer because I was drunk and you didn't ask because you're too trusting... And stupid."

"I trust you."

"I could have had anything," Douglas said, continuing to search.

"You don't though, do you? You'd be more worried about me if you did."

"No, I got myself tested after the ex cheated, and then I had rather a dry spell before you turned up at my door with... carnal intentions. But it's a good habit too be in, and-"

"Then surely we don't need, unless..." - 'Unless you want to sleep with someone else' hung, unspoken, between them.

Douglas stopped his search and came back to his lover, covering Martin's body with his own and kissing him gently.

"Then we don't need them," Douglas said, seeing the slight tension drain from the young man's face.

"This, however," Douglas said popping the cap on the lube and squeezing some out over his fingers with one, well-practiced hand. 

Instead of finishing his sentence he kissed Martin again and his student returned the kiss lazily, still relaxed from his climax.   
Martin opened his legs willingly as he felt the first nudge of Douglas' hand. He hummed into the kiss when he felt warm, slick fingers slide between his cheeks and tease across the entrance to his body.

They kissed throughout Martin's preparation, easing him through the addition of further fingers with soft, gentle kisses as the boy gasped. And soon Martin's kisses turned rougher as he pressed against Douglas' hand, needing more.

"Easy, easy..." Douglas said, pulling back. Martin's pupils were wide with arousal, his cheeks flushed and his lips wet and reddened. He was more than ready and any further foreplay would have been torture for them both.

Martin's body was willing and pliable as Douglas positioned himself, pressing himself against Martin's opening before leaning back over him and stroking his cheek with his hand.

"You okay?" Douglas asked in a whisper - a last confirmation. Martin nodded and bit into his bottom lip, ready for the burning stretch and discomfort.

Douglas was staring into his eyes as he pressed forward, slowly and carefully. This time Douglas' cock eased into him, filling him inch by slow inch. The sudden pain of penetration he was expecting didn't happen, nor did the burn; his relaxed, prepared body seeming to accept Douglas willingly.

Though not painful, it was intense, and Martin breathed hard, staring into his teacher's dark eyes until they were fully joined and Douglas was speaking softly to him again.

"Still okay, Darling?" 

"Yeah...Good - Brilliant," Martin panted, getting a warm smile from Douglas in return.

Still watching him carefully, and with just as much care, Douglas began to slowly move, pulling out just a few itches and slowly penetrating him again.

But the third slow thrust there was no mistaking the pleasure washing over Martin's flushed face as he started trusting his own hips somewhat clumsily in time.

Sliding his arms under Martins body and holding him securely, Douglas pulled back into a kneeling position, pulling the boy with him. Before he knew it, Martin was sat straddled in his teachers lap, penetrated much deeper than before.

"I can touch you better like this - Still alright?"

"Oh God, yes," Martin panted, using the arms he'd flung around Douglas's shoulders as leverage to move. Douglas moaned in response, his hands stroking reverently over Martin's neck, chest and back. 

Douglas brought one hand to the boy's hip, using it as a grounding point for quickening the pace and thrusting upwards. The other he brought to Martin's cock which had been until now, brushing occasionally against Douglas' abdomen. 

There was a whimper that sounded almost like distress when Douglas took hold of him, tight in his grip as he stroked - but Douglas knew better, Martin was getting close. 

And he was damn thankful for it, because the effect a flushed, wanton teenager bouncing on his cock wasn't doing much at all for his own staying power.

"Oh, god, oh..." Martin whimpered, punctuating his sentence by taking Douglas in a wet, desperate kiss.

Douglas felt Martin tense at the same time Martin's mouth stopped moving. Martin gasped for breath across his mouth and the sudden wetness he felt over his fingers coincided with the spasming of Martin's internal muscles, ripping away any last vestiges of his self-control.

Pulling Martin down hard onto his cock, Douglas burrowed his face into his lover's neck and came hard, clutching Martin to him.

After a short time of clinging to each other, breathing hard as they recovered both breath and sense, Martin teased Douglas face from his neck and Douglas was presented with a very happy, satisfied looking young man.

"You look just like you did after your first landing," Douglas joked, still a little breathless.

Martin huffed a little laugh and rested his forehead against Douglas' shoulder.  
Wrapping his arms back around Martin's slim torso, he slowly lay them back down onto the bed before gently pulling out of Martin's body.

Despite his assurances of being 'fine' Martin looked suddenly tired and sleepy. 

"I'll be right back," Douglas said kissing him softly.

Douglas came back from the bathroom with a damp facecloth and cleared up the mess they'd managed to smear on each other’s stomachs and then lower, making Martin give out a sleepy giggle.

Tossing the cloth aside, Douglas slipped into the bed beside Martin and pulled the covers over them.

"You were right..." Martin murmured sleepily.

"Hmm?" Douglas asked, kissing across Martin's shoulder and spooning up behind him. He slid his large hand up Martin's naked thigh and across his hip, luxuriating in the feel of Martin's soft skin.

"About the frame of reference thing. That first time really was shit," Martin commented dryly.

Douglas snuffled a laugh into the young man's shoulder and brought his hands to Martin's slim waist before curling an arm around his chest. 

"The 'I told you so' really is lacking satisfaction in this instance."

Martin smiled and looked over his shoulder the best he could. 

"I love you," Martin said simply.

"I love you too, you daft boy," Douglas said, clutching Martin tighter and trying to ignore the way his chest tightened and the wave of emotion made his eyes well up. "Now go to sleep," he added, pressing his face into Martin's hair and closing his eyes before he ended up in tears.


	20. Chapter 20

Martin came so slowly out of slumber he lazily assumed he was still dreaming. He felt a pleasant glow of contentment and safety. And the warmth and comfort seemed to go bone deep. 

He was sleepy... Sleeping... Dreaming. None of the worries that usually flooded into his mind when he woke presented themselves, so he had to be dreaming.

There was no where he needed to be - he wasn't late. He wasn't in his cold dorm and is dorm mates weren't nearby - so nothing getting stolen or vandalized for fun.

There was no worry seeping through, as there usually was, about end of term - failing exams, having to return home. 

The sense loneliness and fear he'd woken with in the past few weeks seemed more like a dream than the one he was in.

But the sensation was more than a lack of bad feelings... Martin felt happy.

"Good morning, Darling," Martin heard, feeling a soft caress down his side.

Martin opened his eyes, and the warmth within him intensified as his mind cleared of its fog and he saw Douglas smiling down at him.

Martin smiled back up from where he lay, his legs entwined with Douglas'. Douglas had prompted his head up with his elbow and was side on to Martin, still softly caressing the bared skin of Martin's side with his fingertips.

"How you feel?" Douglas asked softly.

"Wonderful," Martin answered honestly, and he did. In fact, now his brain was registering Douglas' smooth stroke across his skin, more parts of his body were waking up and also feeling quite wonderful.

Martin stretch out beside Douglas, taking the sly opportunity to push down the sheets a little more so he could get a better view of Douglas' bare chest. 

But he wasn't fooling anyone, because Douglas grinned and pulled the sheet right down to their thighs, exposing Douglas' morning erection and Martin's burgeoning one.

Douglas' eyes slid appreciatively down Martin's body, his fingertips following his gaze. They trailed over Martin's clavicle and down his chest to the taut nipple. Goosebumps appeared on his skin and Martin made an aborted moan which pleased Douglas immensely. 

He trailed down to Martin's navel and then downward, feeling the light trail of sparse hairs leading down to his groin. Martin's erection was twitching and swelling to its full size as Douglas fingertip trailed to the top of his thighs, then teasingly up his length.

"Would you like me to fetch you some breakfast, or would you like to stay in bed a while?" Douglas asked, suggestively.

"Bed," Martin answered immediately, hips twisting towards the teasing fingers. Douglas smiled approvingly.

"And what would you like?" Douglas asked, playfully.

Martin's breathing and heart rate had risen as Douglas touched him, and he was now very awake and very aroused. 

"Anything!" he replied with wide eyes, meaning it.

Douglas smiled at the innocent eagerness and trust on Martin's face. "I meant, is there anything particular you'd like to try?"

"Oh," Martin responded, glancing down at Douglas' cock and licking his lips subconsciously. "I'd like to give you a blow-job," Martin answered blushing and sounding every bit like the teenager he was.

"Oh... I think I can manage to be persuaded," Douglas said, rolling onto his back as Martin propped himself onto his elbow with a bright smile on his face.

"Umm... Is there anything I should know?" Martin asked shuffling down the bed.

"What, like, despite the name, you shouldn't blow, you mean?" Douglas joked, receiving a feeble punch to his thigh in response.

"I just want it to be nice for you," Martin said. Douglas looked down and although Martin still looked keen, he had adopted the expression Douglas now associated with telling the boy to do a new and complex airborne manoeuvre.

"Hey," Douglas said reaching down and stroking his fingers into Martin's hair. "Just do whatever you feel like and it will be wonderful," Douglas reassured. "Though watch your teeth," he added as an afterthought, making Martin laugh.

Looking a little more relaxed, Douglas watched as Martin took a tentative lick. It was the view more than the sensation that made Douglas groan, and Martin obviously decided Douglas reactions would make a good indicator of his efforts and looked up at him, completing the debauched picture as he continued to lick Douglas' cock.

By the time Martin took him fully in his mouth, Douglas coaxing hand in his hair and a gentle warning of 'Not too much or you'll gag,’ Douglas was already close. 

It only took a few more minutes, before Douglas groaned out Martin's name, unable to help the aborted thrust of his hips as climax took him. 

Both the unexpected thrust and the alien feeling of hot, salty semen flooding across his tongue made Martin pull back with surprise and a cough as the thrust pushed Douglas' cock to the back of his throat.

As a result Douglas' second pulse splashed across Martin's lips and onto his cheek, the third splattering down onto Douglas' abdomen.

"Sorry, sorry," Martin gasped, but Douglas was already pulling Martin up, on top of him. 

"Felt wonderful," Douglas gasped. 

Still riding the peaked arousal of his orgasm, the sight of Martin, those innocent wide eyes and that beautiful lips and pale skin covered in his own come sent a thrill through him.

"God, Martin," Douglas whispered, before licking across his young lover's lips. He kissed him messily, before licking the evidence of his pleasure from Martin's skin.

"Would you like the same?" Douglas asked as he calmed a little, stroking up and down Martin's back, to his rear.

"I- I don't think I'll last that long," Martin whimpered, rather sweetly pathetic to Douglas' ears as he pressed himself against Douglas. 

"Like this, then," Douglas responded, grabbing Martin's hips and shifting him so that Martin's erection slipped beside his own softening cock and through the wet slippery trail of ejaculate on Douglas' stomach. 

Martin's shorter, thinner body made it easy for Douglas to wrap his arms around him, place his palms on the cheeks of his arse and start grinding up, allowing Martin's cock to slip and slide in the tight space of their bodies.

"Move, Darling, that's it," Douglas said as Martin whimpered and clung to Douglas, tucking his face into Douglas' damp neck. 

With Douglas' encouragement, Martin began to rub himself, slowly at first, but then with faster and faster movement's until he was crying out with every thrust of his hips.

When he came, Martin shuddered still, pressing hard against Douglas as the older man felt the hot spurt of Martin's come against his stomach.  
He panted and cried out against Douglas' neck and Douglas brought his arms around the young man and held him until Martin stopped shaking.

"Will I get the staying-in-bed or breakfast choice every morning?" Martin asked with a little laugh as he lay sprawled over his teacher's naked body.


	21. Chapter 21

Two hours later, after Douglas had sent Martin out mid-lessons to sneak back breakfast from the kitchens, Douglas was finishing his tea at his desk and reading the Guardian, studiously ignoring the pile of marking under his newspaper.

Martin was slouched in his chair, legs up over the arm, reading an old copy of Aeroplane Magazine when there was a tuneful rap-ta-tap-tap on the door. 

Both looked up at the door, and then to each other. 

"Arthur," they both said together, making Martin smile.

"He's come to check up on you, no doubt," Douglas said. "Suppose I'd better let him in."

"Hello!" Arthur virtually shouted as Douglas opened the door.

"Hello, Martin!" Arthur said waving across the room and smiling broadly as soon as he saw Martin's face. "You're looking much better!" 

"Yes, not being almost blue and choking on his own vomit suits him," Douglas said dryly, earning himself a narrow eyed stare from Martin. But despite his mocking, the mere memory of Martin as he found him in the chapel made his chest tighten.

"I've come for a chat if that's alright, Martin?" Arthur asked, hopefully.

"Sure," Martin said putting down his magazine and Douglas took the hint. 

"Why don't you two use the bedroom so that I don't have to face the hordes of brats?"

After Arthur had hustled Martin into the bedroom and closed the door, Douglas picked up his paper again, but found himself unable to read more than a sentence at a time. 

What would Arthur ask him? Would Martin get upset? Would Arthur say that they were moving too fast? Would Martin listen if he did? 

The last few weeks had been a train-smash of emotion for him, and he'd had the experience of fifty years to cope - Martin was just eighteen...

Arthur, despite his incessant cheeriness and questionable intellect, was good with people and disturbingly insightful at times. But more than that - Martin trusted him.

To go from never wanting to see the boy, to promises of a life together was a massive turn-around, not even Arthur would be blind to that... So what would he advise Martin?

Douglas abandoned his newspaper and stood up by the fireplace, leaning on the mantelpiece as he thought.

If he was in Arthur's position and was advising an innocent, young, troubled boy who had started a sexual relationship with a teacher old enough to be his father at the very least, what would he say?

Douglas knew exactly what he'd say - what should be said. "For God sake, Martin, don't throw your life away!"

Martin was bright, eager, ambitious... He could have anything he wanted if he put his mind to it. 

Douglas felt sick. 

He looked down at his chair, remembering the day before - holding onto Martin so tightly.   
He'd had something wonderful and nearly lost it through his own stupidity, and he didn't want to lose it again. 

Given that moment he'd grasped his life back - a hope of happiness and even though he knew he wasn't the best future for Martin, he didn't want to let go.

He had lain awake for over an hour that morning just watching Martin sleep. He'd woken to find Martin curled naked against him - and this time there wasn't a damn thing that was more important to him than keeping the young man warm, loved and content.

But could he do that in the long run? Would Martin still be happy in six months’ time, living in a small flat in Fitton with an old man? What about a year from now? Five years?

The door to the bedroom opened, interrupting Douglas' pessimistic thoughts, and Arthur appeared, Martin following him out with his hands in his pockets.

Douglas looked past Arthur to Martin's face for any clue of the advice Arthur may have given, but before he could interpret anything in his young lover's eyes, Arthur had thrown his arms around him in a big hug.

"Brilliant, Douglas! Martin told me you're moving in together! That's- That's-"

"Brilliant?" Douglas asked, smiling in relief but thrown by Arthur's sudden show of affection.

He looked over Arthur's shoulder to where Martin was flushed pink and grinning.

"I take it you skipped the bit about me starving and beating you?" he asked Martin, who grinned even wider.

"Well, I'd better get back, Mum wants a report," Arthur said, pulling back and looking at Douglas. He cocked his head and studied the older man.

"Want to walk me out?" Arthur asked Douglas. Douglas raised his eyebrow and looked at the short distance to the door. Then he looked at Martin.

'You're turn!' Martin mimed behind Arthur, pointing and grinning at Douglas.

"Are you alright, Douglas?" Arthur asked as soon as they closed the inner door to his rooms. Arthur stopped walking, obviously wanting to take advantage of the privacy of Douglas' outer office. "You looked a bit terrified when we came out, just then."

"I'm fine, Arthur," Douglas answered with a little sigh - he resisted rolling his eyes because he was grateful for the help he'd given Martin. And, after-all, despite the turbulent events, if it hadn't been for Arthur, they wouldn't be together.

"If you want to talk, it might help..." Arthur continued.

"I'm sure you mean well, Arthur... It's just all so very complicated right now," Douglas said, still stuck with his melancholy thoughts. 

"No it's not Douglas, it's really, really, simple," Arthur answered, looking a little confused.

"Hardly, Arthur."

"Why not? He loves you, you love him," Arthur said listing his points on his fingers.   
"He's miserable without you and you were really, really awful without him...   
"You give him friendship, security, love, and he gives you friendship, love and partnership in return.   
"You can give him things he needs, and I don't just mean flying, though that is really wonderful for him. You're also a mentor to him... A father figure and that's been missing in his life."

"Oh, great, Arthur!" Douglas he said sarcastically.

"No, I mean it - It's brilliant that you're both his boyfriend and his father figure... I know what it's like not to have a decent Dad. You can advise him, support him, make him feel valued - like a Dad should - and he'll trust you. But because you're not his Dad, he knows you love him for him, not because you're supposed to... Not begrudgingly like his step-father, Douglas!" Arthur implored.

"And he's good for you too - I can see it," Arthur continued. "I see it when you look at him - I saw it at the pub, I saw it at the hospital...  
"You're good for each other and he's eighteen and breaking no rules - no one is getting hurt. Let yourself have this, Douglas."

With a pat on the shoulder, Arthur left a rather stunned Douglas behind him, who maybe had to take a few calming breaths before re-joining his young boyfriend.


	22. Chapter 22

Two days later and Martin had eventually cottoned on to Douglas' scheme of keeping Martin in bed until mid-morning and then sending him out for breakfast.

So Douglas was sneaking his way to the kitchens during lessons, with little hope the dinner ladies would treat him with the same favour as they did Martin, when Carolyn caught him and dragged him back to her office.

"You're looking well..." Carolyn said with a frown as she sat down behind her desk and motioned to the seat opposite. 

Douglas sighed and sat.

"Wholesome food by example... And I haven't been able to touch the drink since I found him - makes for much more pleasant mornings," Douglas answered.

"Arthur tells me he's much improved..."

Douglas nodded, knowing Carolyn was going somewhere with this line of questioning.

"Arthur also tells me you both have plans. Moving in together, Douglas? So soon?"

"At the end of term. Even I realise it's a little awkward to set up house with a student on school grounds."

"The day after he came out of hospital?"

"Same day, technically."

"If this is guilt, Douglas, in the long run it won't work out well."

"Guilt? If you didn't think I was serious about him, why on earth did you give me permission to 'fix it' at the hospital?"

"Because, Douglas, it would have let you manage this - have yourself a May-to-December fling and let Martin down gently... Asking him to move in with you, especially at his age, will leave him in a mess when this ends-"

"Why are you so sure it will end?" Douglas asked, getting angry.

"He's eighteen, and yes, messed up in the head a little, but bright - he's got his whole life in front of him.... You've got slippers and retirement ahead of you," Carolyn responded, unwittingly mirroring every one of Douglas' earlier concerns.

"He wants this to work, I want this to work. We've proven we're miserable without each other. And this isn't a fling-"

"Well, you don't have the best track-record in keeping relationships..." Carolyn interrupted.

"That was low, Carolyn, even for you! I was stupid enough a couple of weeks ago to think he wasn't as important to me as this job. But he is - I love him, and if I need to quit and stack bloody shelves at the supermarket, or sweep the hanger floors at Fitton Airfield, I will." Douglas fumed, getting up. He turned to walk out.

"Alright Romeo! Sit back down, I believe you!" Carolyn called out as Douglas grabbed the door knob to her office. He looked back at her, anger still evident on his face.

"Here's the deal. You keep it quiet, you get him mentored through his subjects and passed with flying colours in the exams. Then you can roger the boy on the front lawn if you so choose. Though what we're going to do about the rumours, I have no idea."

"Rumours?" Douglas asked, letting go of the door handle, and suddenly worried for Martin.

"You thought you'd be able to move a gay student into your one-bedroom quarters under the noses of three hundred school-boys without them discussing it?" 

"Ah..." Douglas responded. In truth he'd thought little of anything the last few days beyond the little bubble he and Martin were in.

"Well, I suppose we'll just have to manage it the best we can," Carolyn said with a sigh.


	23. Chapter 23

Two days later, they found out just how well they'd managed it when an angry Mr Crieff banged on Douglas' door accompanied by a handful of lurking fifth year boys with excited grins on their faces.

The knock had interrupted a flight planning session for the weekend, which in truth had been taking rather a long time to sort out because Martin had been sat on Douglas' lap.

Douglas was still laughing at the disgruntled look on his young lover's face as he tipped him off, when he opened his outer office door.

"You're Richardson?" the severe, dark haired man barked at him as soon as he opened the door.

"Dad?" Martin asked from within the rooms, making Douglas turn to look at Martin's shocked face. "Dad, what are you doing here?" Martin added, nervously coming up behind Douglas at the door.

"MR CRIEFF!" the headmistress called, bustling up the corridor, Arthur hurrying along by her side. "You are not allowed on school grounds without reporting to my office first! A rule I must insist on for the safety of the students!"

"You're the headmistress? You call this safety? Maybe you can tell me why you've let a student be coerced into shacking up with predatory gay teacher?" Mr Crieff retorted angrily. Behind them, a group of boys stood delighted by the scene they'd created.

"Dad!" Martin exclaimed, stepping forward, but Douglas stopped him with a protective hand, keeping himself in the firing line.

"One of your room-mates wrote to me, concerned for you... The letter was followed by another and another, and after that letter you sent your mother, Martin!" Mr Crieff snapped at his step-son.

Douglas looked back at him, then recalled the conversation a while ago about coming out to his parents - his very own advice - and Martin's vow to write to his mother.

"There's nothing to be concerned about, Mr. Crieff," Carolyn attempted.

"Really? His mother is very worried. He's taken up with a man who's not only his teacher, but old enough to be his father!" Mr Crieff said, turning on Douglas.

"So are you, doesn't mean you've acted like one," Douglas shot back, making Martin's eyes widen even further. 

"How dare you!" Martin's step-father roared. "This kid isn't even my own flesh and blood but I've fed him and schooled him and-"

"I don't recall seeing you at parents evening," Douglas re-joined, followed with a warning 'Douglas!' from Carolyn.

"Martin, collect your things. You're mother wants you home," Mr Crieff commanded.

"No," Martin answered quietly.

Mr Crieff looked furious. "While you're in my house-" 

"I'm not in your house!" Martin suddenly yelled, stepping forward. "I've never been welcome in your house! And as you so rightly and often put it, you're not my father, so just stay out of it! I'm happy with Douglas! I love him and I'm staying with him!"

Behind Mr Crieff, there were a couple of gasps from the assembled boys.

"Really? You think I'm going to fork out for another year of schooling at this flea-pit of an establishment? You've got another thing coming!"

"Oh, that won't be necessary, Mr Crieff," Carolyn piped up as Douglas had stepped forward to give the man a mouthful, or a punch, she wasn't quite sure.

"I'm offering Martin a position as teachers assistant. Food and board are obviously included, so him staying on at St. Gertrude’s would be in a professional capacity. And the income will help support his on-going flight-schooling," she said calmly, stepping between the two men.

Douglas had the overwhelming urge to hug the old battle-axe.

"Sounds like a win-win situation for you, 'Dad'" Martin piped up. "I'm out of your hair for good and it doesn't cost you a penny." Martin could see the eagerness on his step-father's face to accept the offer. 

Everyone watched the exchange in silence.

"What am I supposed to tell your mother?"

"Tell her I'm fine - I am. Tell her I'm happy and I'll write to her."

"You may visit at Christmas - alone - if you wish. Your mother may wish to see you."

"No. If she wants to see me, she can visit me - us," Martin corrected, taking hold of Douglas' hand. Douglas looked at him and squeezed his hand in silent support.

"Well, goodbye," Mr Crieff said, turned and strode off down the corridor and out of Martin's life.

When the collected teachers and students turned back from watching the man walk away, Martin was staring directly at the gathered boys.

"It was you, Clegg, wasn't it?" Martin accused, and before Douglas could tighten his grip he'd launched himself at the boy, punching his squarely in the ribs. Clegg took a return swing but missed, letting Martin get a last punch in the nose before Douglas pulled him away and Arthur dragged Clegg in the opposite direction.

"CRIEFF, CLEGG! My office NOW!"

Five minutes later, Martin was sat on a wooden chair outside Headmistress Knapp-Shappey's office with stinging knuckles. 

He also had a slightly stinging conscience as he heard the headmistress ripping shreds off Clegg. 

Fragments of the one-way angry conversation filtered through the thick wooden door.

'I HAVE A GOOD MIND TO EXPEL YOU! WHAT WOULD YOUR FATHER THINK OF THAT?'

'YOUR BEHAVIOR IS INTOLERABLE!'

'NO DECENT SCHOOL WOULD WANT YOU! WHY SHOULD ST. GERTRUDE'S?'

Martin couldn't hear the murmured responses, but he imagined there was a lot of grovelling going on - grovelling he'd be doing as soon as it was his turn in the office.

It had been stupid and irresponsible to hit Clegg, despite how good it had felt. Would his foolish actions jeopardize the position the headmistress had just offered him or even his place as a student?

Martin bit his lip as he waited; listening to the headmistress's further rants about Clegg's marks and general incompetence.

He thought back to Douglas, who was now waiting for him back in his rooms. He would be so disappointed in him if he got expelled for fighting.

When Clegg came out, flushed, sweating and the remnants of a nose bleed still on his shirt; he shot Martin a shocked and rather scared look, before rushing off back in the direction of the dorms.

"CRIEFF!" the headmistress called.

Martin stood and reluctantly made his way through the door, full of dread.

"Shut the door!" she barked as soon as Martin entered. Martin did and then stood near the door, too nervous to go further.

"Well, sit down! No better yet, make me a cup of bloody tea," she said, motioning to the tea-tray on the sideboard. 

Her tone was exasperated, but nothing remotely like the wrath that had reverberated through the wooden door moments earlier.

"Well get to it! I've not much use for a teaching assistant that can't make tea!"

"Right!" Martin exclaimed, jumping to attention and dashing over to pour the tea.

"Well, I can't say I haven't wanted to smack that boy myself a few times this year, but needless to say, that's not professional conduct for a teaching assistant."

"No, Headmistress. I'm very sorry - it was the heat of the moment and I was just so angry at him for trying to ruin everything just when I'd started being happy... I- I- I didn't think. I'm really sorry."

"One sugar... You actually are, aren't you? Well, that makes a refreshing change on my staff. Though I suggest you resist punching him in the nose again. I have enough trouble with Douglas cuffing them over the back of the head," she said, accepting a cup of hastily made tea from Martin.

She motioned for him to sit, which he did obediently.

"Well, what now? The entire school knows you're in a somewhat immoral relationship with the physics teacher, meaning you can no longer be a student."

"Miss?" Martin asked with dread. He'd never get into a flight-school without his GCSEs.

"I'm just going to have to expel you," she continued.

Martin's heart sunk.


	24. Chapter 24

Douglas stood and immediately came over to him as Martin opened the inner door to Douglas' rooms and stepped back inside.

Martin was immediately enveloped in his lover's arms and held on tightly in return.

"Are you okay?" Douglas asked, pressing a kiss into his hair.

"Brilliant! I've been expelled!" Martin said smiling up as Douglas loosened his hold.

"What?" Douglas asked with alarm.

"For hitting Clegg. Carolyn - I can call her that now she says - needed to expel me so I'm not one of St. Gertrude's students anymore so no more parents can complain about me sleeping with you. And that way I can take up the position as teacher's assistant," Martin beamed.

"But your qualifications!" Douglas prompted.

"Ah, yes - as I'm eighteen, I'd have to get private tutelage and take my exams separately... Don't suppose you know a teacher who'd give private tutelage in return for sexual favours, do you?" 

"Oh... I think I have someone in mind," Douglas grinned down at him, obviously relieved. 

"And because I'm not a student, I can't stay in the dorms... And the headmi- Carolyn says as I'm not a fully qualified teacher I don't qualify for rooms of my own, so I'll just have to share with you."

"Well, it does make sense for the payment of sexual favours," Douglas responded with mock seriousness. Martin slapped him on the arm, but hugged him a moment later.

"Oh, Douglas! It's all turned out better than I could have ever possibly imagined - my step-father, living with you, being a paid teacher's assistant to save up for flight school - Carolyn even mentioned Clegg will have to call me 'Sir'!" he laughed as Douglas hugged him again.

"Come on then," Douglas said, lifting Martin easily up so that he could hoist him off to the bedroom. "Time to start stacking up those sexual favours - my tutelage is expensive."

"Will you have to call me 'Sir'?" Martin asked, ducking under the bedroom doorframe as Douglas carried him in.

"Not a bloody chance."  


~oOo~

Douglas was stood by the window of their flat, now a warm, decorated second home - waiting for Martin to return from the most important exam of his life.

He thought back to Martin's GCSE's which had turned out easy, and rather fun, to prepare Martin for.

This exam was much harder, and they'd spent months of solid revision, taking up all their spare time to prepare him.

Of course, he wanted Martin to pass - Martin, and he, had worked hard to make sure he was ready, but at the same time he dreaded it. 

He loved Martin with all his heart but he had to face facts - what would a bright, newly qualified Captain want with him, an old past it has-been who'd been fired for smuggling.

Martin's record would be new and spotless, and he knew Martin well enough to know it would stay that way.

Soon enough, Martin would charm his way into a great flying job - looks, confidence, and great pass marks would guarantee it. And then he'd be sleeping away. Staying in hotels with rafts of toned, tanned, tight stewards... He'd been there, done that, many, many years ago.

Douglas sighed and thought briefly of a smooth tumbler of Talisker.

"I've passed..." a voice came from the doorway. He'd been so preoccupied by this thoughts, Douglas hadn't heard Martin's key in the door.

"Well, of course you did," Douglas said passively, and turned, walking over to the young man and trying his best to look disinterested to tease his lover.

It didn't last two seconds, seeing Martin's bright eyes and red cheeks.

Douglas grabbed the boy and span him around.

"Well, CAPTAIN CRIEFF! Yes, that day has come!" Douglas said causing Martin to laughed wildly in his arms. "What do you want to do to celebrate?"

"Well," Martin said, unzipping his flight-school jacket to show his 'lucky' blue jacket below. "I've had a while to think about this..." he said, stepping back and taking Douglas' hands in his - Martin was shaking a little, causing Douglas to worry.

"Propose, Douglas... I want to propose to you. I'm no longer a kid, I'm a Captain... And there's going to be a lot of travelling for me in the next few years, but you are the only thing that's ever felt like home to me. I want to come home each time to my husband... Will you marry me?"

End.


End file.
